Dark Rapture
by MelanyWinchester
Summary: It's been four years since the Harmon family perished, and a new owner has moved into the Murder House, yet she has a few mysteries of her own. Based on the twitter role play family by the same name, the story develops along with a soft touch of the Supernatural ideologies. Watch as the house once again works it's supernatural magic against whomever enters it.
1. Chapter 1: Murder House

_**~June 8**__**th**__** 2016~**_

"Bloody heat." Melany Elizabeth Jezbelle Stonem whispered as her dainty hand gripped a broken piece of cardboard to make air travel toward her frame in a fanning motion, the movements swiftly sending cool air toward her face, but only slightly; the humidity was still incredible; so much that not even with a ponytail would her neck not be moisturised with sweat droplets. Specially not in the place where Mel had just decided to live; and specially not now that she was nearly forced to stand out in the sun while the uniformed men unloaded the truck full of the furniture she'd bought for and to her brand new house. The place was Los Angeles, California. And Melany had fallen completely in love with this house she'd bought as soon as she saw it in that website from that small three-room flat she'd lived in for about three weeks. The truth was that she knew right away that the huge Victorian house was for her, for it was almost an exact replica of the one she used to live in before her life completely changed into a full and unfortunate chaos.

The house was wonderful inside; big. It had about six rooms, three living rooms and the biggest basement she'd ever laid her eyes on; or ever since her gorgeous home in Cambridge, England. She was glad, though, that she could finally spend the money her parents had left her so many years ago, for it had been sitting in many different banks throughout the years without being touched; since Mel hadn't really needed any money to do as she pleased for a very long time. But now, the sun shades-covered green on the girl's eyes followed the men on their tired trails from the truck to the house; many times they called her over to ask where she wanted what they were carrying into the big house, and she replied all those times without moving from where she was. And Mel could see the uniformed men were clearly upset at her vague replies and wished better directions inside the house, but she knew she couldn't move. Not until they got the trunk out from the big truck and into the house.

Suddenly the heat felt incredibly heavy, and Mel felt like everything around her was moving; that's when she knew that the men were moving the trunk. The hand that was resting solely at her side swiftly reached up to where her sun shades rested on the bridge of her nose and retrieved them; then her back started hurting. "Oi!" She said; the words sounding alien in the American accent of the girl. "Careful with that trunk, will ya? There're porcelain dolls in there!" But the truth was that inside that trunk no porcelain dolls rested; instead it was her. Her body; the real one. Not the one she resided in at the moment. And even though she was not in her own body, in that trunk, she could still feel the tossing and turning in the body she was in right now. And honestly, it hurt. _"Scratch the outside, scratch the inside" _Meg had told her. Mel could still remember Meg's words as if they were said only yesterday. Finally, Mel sighed and moved; quickly following the men that carried the trunk. "Bloody hell, be careful with that!" She said as another pain spasm hit her neck; the words continuing to sound completely wrong in that accent. _They'd be more gentle if they knew there was a body in there._ Mel thought as a soft smirk crossed her lips. Her eyes looked up at the Victorian house as she entered it, and her gaze bolted in front as she crossed the front door as she felt one last jolt of pain when they finally set down the trunk roughly on the wooden ground "Ow." She whispered, listening to the foreign rough voice of the stranger whose body she resided. She was 28 years old, this vessel, and she worked in a bar near downtown L.A. Her name was Zandra Barbara Pierce, and she was an actress in look of a big break. Mel had chosen her one night as soon as she decided to buy this house, for she knew it was very probable that no one would have sold her the house if they saw her in her true form. Melany's real body barely looked 17, or 18. Maybe even 20 maximum. She knew she had to deal with this with the face of a proper adult; and this Barbara girl was the first one that crossed Mel's path. Barbara had looked bored, and she was, definitely sad and bored and she didn't seem to happy to return to her brother. But Mel guessed she probably wasn't bored anymore. And she was definitely away from her little brother. Mel hadn't really paid real attention to Barbara's background, thought she probably should have.

Suddenly Mel frowned and looked down at the trunk that had been set down beside her. Was she placed in a bad position? Probably so; for her head had started hurting as soon as she had stepped foot inside the house. _Strange _Mel thought. But she, then suddenly felt eyes on her, and she turned around to see where the gazes came from; a pair of very freaked out guys were pulling in a hospital stretcher, and another pair pulled in an I.V machine. Mel turned around completely and raised the red shaded eyebrows of the girl at the staring men."What?" She asked them. _Maybe she's a psycho_ One of them thought, Mel now listening in toward whatever it was the men could be thinking. _What the fuck does she_ _need this for?_ The other one thought. _Pinche loca. Mujeres._ Mel's brows dropped and a smile crossed her lips. _Whoa, Spanish thoughts_. She thought. _Cool_. She rolled her eyes in pretend annoyance. "What? I'm an actress." She said toward the wondrous men. "I need props and a believable set, I make videos." She lied toward them. The men curiously exchanged looks, clearly convinced by Mel's words. _L.A. They're all motherfuckin' actors _The first one thought as he rolled his eyes, starting to motion the other to move. _Riiiiiight..._ The other one thought as he followed the first one's instructions. _Mujeres._ The last one thought; and every single one of their thoughts reached Mel, and she couldn't help but feel satisfied at her own lying skills. "Basement please.." Mel's smile was lyingly innocent as she motioned with a soft little hand toward the door a little far away to the basement. The curious men nodded their heads and started moving the hospital stretcher and I.V machine away from Mel to where the basement was. Another sigh left Melany's lips as she finally decided to sit down right on the trunk where her real body hid. Mel knew she'd move stuff later to a comfortable and pleasant position she desired the furniture to rest in; but for now, she had to act absolutely normal. If anything, she would have to boss these people around and wish for them all to leave, for she knew that she could only survive so long in a tight leather trunk with no real oxygen entering her lungs. That alone worried her. Mel was already starting to feel a little dizzy. Her green eyes looked down at the carved wooden surface of the huge trunk and she allowed a soft hand to pat the top of it twice. "Don't worry." She whispered to her body inside the trunk. "Just a tad more and you're out of there." And with a determined nod she looked around the place nearly willing all these men to hurry; to leave. Just so that she could finally return to her own real body, breathe the air as her full and real self, and explore her brand new house.

_**~~~~A few hours later~~~~**_

The air was still humid, and the sun had nearly changed sides in the sky when Mel was finally alone in the huge Victorian house. Furniture and suitcases rested at all sides of her, yet she still sat on the trunk that she had sat on to protect while the men moved. Only, now that she was fully and completely alone, a smile had broken along her lips. She took a deep breath; the smell of a new home filling her nostrils. _New to me. She thought. "_It's time." She heard the voice of the strange Zandra girl she possessed say. Melany finally stood from her sitting position, turning lightly and allowing her eyes to lower toward the old and shaded leather bound trunk. Then her face lifted; the green in the girl's eyes moving along the confines of the Victorian house's halls to see if the trail toward the basement door was clear; and when she realised it was, she lightly lifted her hand in a calm motion. A dark liquid black slowly started filling Melany's eyes, fully and thoroughly until there were no whites left. Mel knew this was occurring, and once she felt she was ready, she willed the trunk to move lightly against the floorboards. After a few short milliseconds the trunk started slowly moving on its own. Mel loved this side of her true nature, knowing it really came in handy when she wanted to move heavy objects. A smirk softy appeared across those borrowed soft rosy lips.

_**~~~~Meanwhile upstairs in the second floor~~~~**_

Tate Langdon's back was softly pressed against the wall across Violet Harmon's bedroom door. The soles of his converse hard on the floor as his knees bent in front of him. His eyes never pried away from that doorknob, always hoping and wishing for that small little movement that meant Violet was about to leave the room. This place in front of Violet's room had become home to him. He never slept, he never moved. If anything only to move and hide away when Violet did decide to leave her room for Tate knew Violet didn't ever want to see him. Unfortunately, though, a loud thud sounded from downstairs, and Tate's sight was curiously pried away from that shiny doorknob. _I miss the quiet, already_. He thought. A few hours ago, his curiosity had taken the best of him, making him move away from his place to look out the window at the red haired woman that stayed outside while men lifted her furniture for her. Of course after only a few minutes of looking he'd decided the new tiny owner seemed average; easily scared. So he'd decided to return to his place outside of his beloved Violet's bedroom door. He knew the old annoying Harmon family, except of course of his beloved, he obviously didn't find her annoying at all, would probably have the new owner and her array of shit out of that deadly bricked cell of a house in a matter of days. That was mainly the more reason to stay by Violet's door, for the only time he actually saw her out in the open was whenever the not many innocent ghosts in the house decided to scare off whomever new owner that came prying into the haunted house. The truth was that Violet avoided the blonde curly haired Tate completely; only making him watch her when she didn't seem to even notice so. Another loud thud came from downstairs, and Tate's blonde brows furrowed together in a frown as curiosity shot at him. _What the hell is she doing down there?_ He wondered, hearing yet another thud echo from downstairs.

Too curious not to go downstairs and find out, Tate lifted himself up slowly from the wall outside Violet's door; keeping himself hidden onto the dark places of the house, as his nature made him do. When he finally reached the lower level of the house, his eyes wondered around in search of the redhead woman. He was steps away from the kitchen when he heard a woman's rough voice coming from somewhere near. "Fuck." The voice said; only making Tate raise his brows. "Holy shit, I need to lose some weight." The voice continued. Tate silently walked over to where the voice resounded and realised that the basement door was wide open; a petite curly redhead lifting a heavy looking trunk with both her hands and stepping into the dark, yet familiar, to Tate, insides of the enormous basement.

"First mistake…" Tate whispered, as Melany's body completely disappeared into the darkness, only to have an unseen Tate Langdon follow along behind her into the dangerous and dark confines of the basement of the Victorian house famously known as _**Murder House**_.

**To Be Continued.**


	2. Chapter 2: Haunted

"First mistake..." Tate hadn't spoken out loud in and incredibly long time, so when he whispered, hearing his own voice made him wince. Letting a long sigh he hears the only footsteps on the dusty stairs; and in a slow, un-hearable pace he follows them step by step until he hit the landing. He remembered the old basement; whenever Violet left her room he would hide in the dark confines of the lonely basement so she wouldn't see him. Sometimes ever visiting her broken body and bones inside that hidden crawlspace where he had hurtfully hidden her remains after her suicide. The sound of metal against the floor made him want to move; curiosity breaking inside him, so he moved, following the noise. He reached a known and recognised part of the basement; the same part where he had once scared away a very annoying bully for Violet. _Stop thinking about her._ Tate thought toward himself as his curiosity bossed inside him. But when he reached the place where the noises came from he felt his brows rise completely. He had seen a lot of weird things in his time, but what he saw in that moment had him in complete shock and surprise. The poorly lit room, only lit by the few horizontal lights on the ceiling, now had a hospital bed propped neatly near the farthest wall in the room; and a very obvious I.V machine rested beside it. The room looked like a very dark and twisted version of a hospital room. Maybe even an abandoned one. _This chick is stranger than I thought._ Tate thought.

"They took the acting comment a little too literal." The redhead's voice said; a soft chuckle leaving her lips. "How nice of them. Making my work easier." There was also a very dirty window, small, at that, on the upper side of the wall where the hospital bed rested. It really did look rather dramatic. Tate knew the redhead couldn't see him. Or even hear him; so he propped himself against the wall in the empty doorway to the room where Melany handled everything around her. His curiosity was getting the best of him as Mel started plugging the hospital equipment as fast as she could; Tate's eyes moving quickly toward the dark leather trunk that rested near her pale, nearly albino, body, _Maybe a body?_ Tate thought as his twisted little mind did wonders on him. He decided to remain unseen; watching. Little did Tate know, though, that a soft headache had started proving into Mel's borrowed head, and she had, in fact, heard his strange twisted thought; It sounded far away to her, though. As if many veils were in between her and the voice inside her head that was obviously not hers. She knew it was a thought, but she wondered why on earth did her head hurt? And why couldn't she properly listen. More importantly... was someone there? Melany's body straightened as a small frown furrowed her brows; her eyes narrowing a little bit as she turned around to see where that unknown thought had come from. She was neatly surprised, though, when she saw no one was really there. She turned toward the trunk now, her guard completely up; as it showed, in fact, the green irises of the borrowed body darkened lightly in a deep dark manner. This time, the whites remained; leaving the eyes looking simply like they had always been naturally black; or a very incredible dark brown. That only meant that Mel's guard was up, and that she was ready to protect herself if needed. But now, though, she felt a complete light-headedness, nearly making her stumble against the hospital bed. She knew that her body inside that heated trunk needed oxygen. She could barely breathe.

Staying against the wall; his arms neatly crossed against his chest, Tate watched as the redheaded woman stretched her hand in front of her. And as soon as it did, the trunk started moving slowly toward her. Tate's eyes widened. Not many things surprised him, but this? This was definitely something to be surprised about. He blinked, looking from Mel to the trunk and then at Mel again. "How are you doing that, Ginger?" Tate spoke; knowing very well that the woman couldn't really hear him. Melany kneeled in front of the trunk, barely able to hold herself as her fingers touched the silver padlock that kept the contents completely hidden from the world. One of her dainty hands lifted to a chain that rested around her neck, and there, a medium sized, old-looking silver key rested. Mel's digits retrieved the chain from her neck and led the key to the trunk. Tate leaned in a little closer to curiously pry at her privacy, his shoulder still rested against the brick of the doorway. Mel's free hand moved in a soft stroking manner against the soft leather covering, and a few clicking sounds came from inside it. Mel's lips twisted upwards; a smile that appeared solely by the recognition of the inside locks moving at her will. She looked at the key, then at the lock, and then a chuckle escaped her lips. "Why do I even bother?" The American girl's voice echoed around the room before she snapped her fingers once, making the padlock open in a light click. Tate frowned. This, for him, was completely impossible. How was she doing this? With another movement of the pale girl's hand, the lid of the trunk opened, and the contents of it finally were revealed. Inside, a young, black haired teenage-looking girl, whose pale skin looked softer than rose petals rested; and suddenly both the redhaired woman and the young girl in the trunk took a long deep breath; Mel's light-headedness had disappeared as soon as that breath was taken. Tate's eyes widened. If it hadn't been for that long breath the brunette girl took, he'd have sworn she was dead. Why did both women take such a breath?

Tate was fully intrigued and thrown off all at the same time. Who kept a body, a live one, in a trunk? He wondered. And without even thinking about it twice, he pushed himself away from the wall; stepping closer to her —to them— inch by inch. _Oh, shit_. He though as he realised just how absolutely beautiful the girl in the trunk looked. The hospital gown covering her body only leaving him wondering what was going on. Why was she there? His head shook; and he almost walked away, for he had never rested eyes on another girl since Violet. But his curiosity was too great. Mel, finally fully clear headed again, moved toward the brunette's sleeping form, and with the carefulness of a butterfly resting on a flower, she placed an arm around the brunette's shoulders and under her knees, carrying her carefully, as if she could easily break, away from the leathered trunk and toward the hospital bed."Finally. We really needed that breath, didn't we?"

Tate moved quickly to the opposite side of the hospital bed; his curiosity overpowering him as he leaned forward to watch the redhead's every move. _What the fuck...? _He thought as the woman placed the girl calmly on the soft sheets on the bed. The words leaving the woman's lips made no sense to him. And in full honesty, he couldn't even process what the hell was going on. But he knew, as he saw the redhead woman slowly take the needle from the I.V machine and calmly, only wincing very lightly with the first sharp contact, placing said needle inside her arm, that he was in no way leaving until he could fully figure it all out. Mel's soft breath, in both bodies relaxed. Another sound slowly started echoing in the room, and it was only the soft beeping coming from the I.V machine. Tate's brows rose again. Why had this redheaded girl placed an I.V machine on herself? His question was quickly answered as the redhead approached the beautiful brunette body on the bed again, closer and closer, until she was only inches away from her face. Slowly, Mel willed the power to rise inside her; making the eyes that had previously only changed irises to black to turn fully invading black; the natural whites quickly disappearing. Melany looked down at her real body and softly moved her borrowed vessel's hands to part the brunette's lips lightly. Then, in a swift, yet careful manner, Mel climbed the bed; only making Tate's frown disappear into a fully curious and rather teenage boy dirty minded raise of his brows. There was definitely no way he was leaving now.

Mel made sure to not move the brunette too much, for she was already too close to the edge. With the hand where the I.V didn't connect, she made sure her real body's face aligned with that of her borrowed vessel's; and then her concentration took over. Both bodies on the bed breathed calmly, and Tate simply stared in wonder; this was the most twisted and weird thing he'd seen in a very long time. The weirdness only added when a thick dark smoke started slipping from the redhead's mouth, only to fall into the brunette's neatly parted rosy lips. And then the brunette's chest rose, and her lids flew open, leaving Tate nearly breathless when a beautiful, liquid, shiny blue was revealed in the brunette's irises. Tate's lips had changed to form a calm "O" as he stared in complete wonder and intrigue; almost feeling a little disappointed when a deep angry black stated filling the wonderful and alluring blue of the brunette's eyes. As Tate looked at the redhead, he realised that the black that had taken over her eyes was slowly fading; it was as if that black was being transferred into the brunette by that horrendous black smoke that passed from lips to lips. Tate's eyes fell on the brunette again when the black faded completely from the redhead's eyes, and he realised that as the redhead's body fell limp on the brunette's she smiled. The only conscious in the room now were Tate himself and the alluring brunette that lay smiling on that hospital bed. He blinked repeatedly and curiously as the absolutely stunning blue that had taken his breath away at first started softly appearing again as Mel willed that black to fade from her eyes. Her smile was evident... She was finally breathing in her own body.

"Holy fuck." Tate said as he slowly backed away toward the doorway, those being his last unheard words as he let his guard completely down without meaning to, for a big fucking smile spread across his lips. This was a twisted little thing he had just witnessed; hell, he lived in the fucking Murder House and he was shocked. That was saying something. Truth was that the weirder shit got, the more Tate liked it. But he wasn't ready to let himself be seen. Little did he know, his being distracted stopped him from keeping the veil of the supernatural covering him. Mel had finally gotten the feeling of her own body back; finally able to move. At first it was only her fingers, then her arm; lifting it weakly to carefully move the body of the unconscious redhead from against her frame; Mel's lips parted softly as she took a deep breath; allowing herself the satisfaction of closing her eyes for a few seconds to try and adjust to her own vision. But, then she turned her head to look at the unconscious redhead. Mel's lips broke in a smirk. Tate watched, glued to the floor at his initial place under the empty doorway. "I'll take care of you later." Mel said toward the body beside her. "Rest, will ya?" Her voice cracked in some places for lack of use in her body, and the English accent was now clear and evident in her words. It sounded natural, fully normal; Mel was happy to finally be in her own body. Even if she felt really tired.

Melany's liquid blue eyes closed once again, and with a bit of effort she sat up on the bed. As she noticed the lingering headache, Mel frowned, letting a soft exhale of breath in a sigh with still closed eyes; both her hands lifting to rub against her eyes in a soft manner. But, then, suddenly the frown deepened in Mel's forehead. Tate watched intently. That was the moment when Mel opened her gorgeous eyes; at first she thought she was going crazy, that maybe being in a trunk without oxygen for so long had damaged her brain cells, but then, as her eyes adjusted, she realised that she was actually not crazy, and was, in fact, seeing someone under the doorway to her little made up hospital room. Her mind suddenly became worried. "Who are you?" her rough accented voice said toward Tate, whose eyes had widened suddenly as he realised he had left his guard down and was now being seen by this gorgeous twisted girl. "Why are you in my house?" Mel questioned Tate again; her eyes were now fully adjusted, and she worried incredibly. No matter how long the young man had stood there, she knew this whole scene wasn't one to rest easy about. _I've only just got here and I have these problems?!_ She thought before she asked the most important question in her interrogation. "How long have you been standing there?!"

Tate simply stared for a few seconds. His frame slowly relaxing into his bravado style; taking advantage of the fact that he was still against the doorway. He had been seen, and now... now there was no way to turn back and run. The twisted little blue eyed girl, who had just willed some strange black shade away from her eyes had seen him. It seemed Murder House had finally called in a whole new level of weird.

To Be Conitnued.


	3. Chapter 3: No Rest for the Wicked

Tate's eyes were intent on Mel; now that she had fully seen him, he couldn't do anything other than make the best of this little show. His weight switched so that his back was now resting against the coolness of the doorway. His shoulders lifted in a shrug as her questions roamed around his head. He ignored them, though; all but two of them. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was allowing his eyes to give a quick look up and down of what could be somewhat seen of her body hidden by that damn hospital gown. "Name's Tate." He said, finally landing on those beautiful blue eyes that had distracted him a few moments ago. "And I've been here long enough to see your magic trick." The smirk that crossed his lips was small, yet very evident. "Pretty impressive."

Mel sat, concerned, on the hospital bed; her heart beating wildly against her chest as she stared at the, still leaning against the wall, figure of Tate Langdon. _Do I have to kill him?_ She wondered _He's seen what I can do; he'll want to tell everyone out there. _Melany hoped she didn't have to do that, but to make sure, she willed her mind to expand to be able to hear his thoughts. But just as she did that, the pain that had been annoyingly pounding in her head grew in level. The pain barely bearable; but Mel knew she couldn't show that to this unknown person. She couldn't show weakness. Her chin lifted and her eyes narrowed. _What the fuck is this?!_ She thought as she spoke. "How did you get into my house, then, _Tate"_? Mel's accent thickened at the mention of his name, emphasizing it and making it somewhat sound harsher. Tate's smirk grew, and with a short bit of amusement, unconsciously enjoying the way his name sounded in that tick accent of hers, he watched as she stood from the bed. What he couldn't see, though, for Mel was hiding it well, was that much strength and effort was being put in every movement. It never was easy to get back in action when Mel changed bodies. Yet she knew that weakness could cause her deep trouble. Even with this curious teenager. Her eyes never moved from Tate, though. Not even as she managed to place the redhead's body properly in the hospital bed and cover her body, at chest level, with the white thick sheets that she had been laying on. "Hm?"

As Mel finally stood straight, facing toward Tate's direction he found it proper to push his weight off of the wall; his steps echoing slightly in the nearly empty basement. He walked toward her, partly circling her with curiosity. "Didn't you do any research before buying this thing?" He asked, untangling one of his folded arms to wave it slightly in the air; his finger indicating around the room. "Some pretty scary things have gone down here, ya know?" Another step echoed around them as he leaned an arm length away from Mel to whisper lowly into her ear. "But that kind of stuff wouldn't scare you, would it, body snatcher?"

It was a reflex reaction in Mel, to respond to danger or any kind of closeness with the allowance of her eyes to turn fully and completely black once more. Her features turned to fully face Tate, who had stood so close to her. She took a step back from him, the darkness of her eyes nearly hypnotizing Tate to the core. Before he knew it, a light flick of Mel's hand sent him flying against a wall. Mel stood many feet away from him, yet Tate couldn't move. It was as if some invisible force was forcing itself against Tate from Mel's extended palm. The pain in Melany's head increased, and it felt like it was taking more than the usual effort for her to keep Tate pinned there against that wall. The discomfort and wonder were merely mental as she took a few steps close to him. "You're right." She said. "It wouldn't. I don't scare easy. Plus," She stepped slowly closer to Tate, her darkened eyes narrowed on him as she stopped moving only a few feet away from him; her hand still extended toward him, not touching him, mentally keeping him pinned against the cool bricked wall. "I can take care of myself." She was in control and she knew it, and though Tate was nearly out of breath for the strength with which the wall had hit his back, he still found it incredibly mesmerizing how one moment her eyes were incredibly and inhumanly black, yet after one short blink of those eyelids, the blue he'd enjoyed seeing was back. Tate couldn't help but let out what was supposed to be a laugh, but came out as a weird mix of a cough and a laugh. Trying to breathe slightly, but finding it nearly impossible. _Damn, how is she doing this!? _He thought, loud enough for Mel to hear it in her own head. She smirked in responce.

"I can see that." Tate's out of breath voice said. "You wanna set me down, tough stuff? I'm finding it a little hard to breathe here." His eyes were on hers, finding himself completely mesmerized by all those inhuman things she'd done.

Mel's forehead wrinkled in a light frown. Why wasn't he acting scared? This was usually the point where people would beg her to let them go, to please not hurt them. She wasn't used to people asking calmly to be set free. Non the less, she lower her hand, and Tate was able to breathe once again; whatever force it had been keeping him pinned against that wall was gone as soon as that dainty hand had lowered. _Huh._ He thought. "Now." Mel said, keeping her blue eyes set on Tate as her hands moved calmly to her back. "Do you mind telling me how the bloody hell did you get into my house?" Her fingers lightly undid the few loose knots that kept the hospital gown around her body. Tate couldn't help but stare as that thin blue and white fabric slipped from her body. He shouldn't have been surprised when black ripped jeans and a tight shirt, with the letters "M C R" spread across her chest, were revealed from under that hospital gown. He found himself being disappointed that she hadn't just been in her underwear. What could he say? He was a teenage boy, after all.

Tate forced himself to look away and walk past her, his hands grazing against the fabric of his clothes as he dusted himself off. Before he could get far, though, he turned again. His eyes set on the back of Mel's head, only for a short moment, since Mel turned around, following him with her eyes, "First things first," Tate cleared, his hands neatly clasping together in front of him. "This place belongs to no one." After he said those words, he cleared his throat; the pads of his thumb and index softly pulling on the fabric of his shirt before he could continue talking. "Second.." His eyes stayed on Mel's hypnotized by the intense blue. "I've got some tricks of my own, body snatcher." His lips broke in the best attempt of a smile he could let out before he looked around the room. "Ah" he said as he walked over to a dust-filled red toolbox. He wasn't surprised when the little box opened, his fingers quickly reaching inside for the object he was searching for. A Screwdriver. "Here." His voice echoed only slightly as he turned to look and walk towards Mel's confused stand. Tate's hand reached over to her, offering her the screwdriver. Yet, as a reflex action, Mel's hands had balled into fists. "Come on, take it." Tate said. Mel's eyes only narrowed the more. What was he up to? She knew her guard was well up, yet she couldn't stop the confusing feeling from overwhelming her as she stared at the screwdriver. Her eyes lifted to look at Tate again.

"Yeah, you keep calling me 'body snatcher'. It's half-demon. Body snatchers are a myth. There are only demons or shape shifters." He knew too much, anyway, Mel had decided. So yes, he would kill him, she thought. Might as well let him understand the facts completely while she was at it. Who knew? Maybe she'd even be able to take that screwdriver and stab him with it. _Nah; too much blood to clean. _"What's that for?" She asked, motioning to the orange screwdriver that Tate held.

It was his turn to be confused. Demons? Half-demons? So she was saying she has half human, half demon? _What the fuck?_ He thought. Yet his words said something else. "Whatever you say...?" His voice rose slightly, the tone questioning as he wondered what he could call her, other than body snatcher. Especially now that he knew it was apparently wrong.

"Melany." She said. Snatching the screwdriver from his hands. Maybe she would stab him after all. Her voice was light, calm. "Do you mind telling me what the bloody hell am I holding a screwdriver for?" _Apart from stabbing you before you try and run away once your sense of survival sets in? _She completed in her mind.

Tate's face scrunched slightly at the harshness of Mel's accent; but he brushed it off before he spoke again, stepping a little closer to her. "So, _Mel_." He said, giving her a brand new short version of her name. "Since weird shit seems to be your style, I'm thinking you'll enjoy this." He paused, nearly making Mel roll her eyes of how dramatic he was being. She started thinking she was going to enjoy stabbing him more than she dared admit. "I'm dead." Tate said, making Mel's eyes look at him widened once more. Could he see past Mel's façade? Could he tell that Mel was going to kill him? _Not possible. _Mel thought, her eyes narrowing once more as she continued listening to Tate's words. "And all these other bastards roaming around. Count them in too." Tate's eyes were on Mel. Begging for a bigger reaction other than the simple confused wide-eyed stare that Mel was giving him, "But; you know." He continued. "Now that I think about it… You probably don't even need an object to kill me with, huh?" His arms opened wide at his sides, Mel's neat little "O" that she'd formed with her mouth and wide open eyes being enough of a reaction to cause Tate to smile. "Give me your best shot, demon girl." Mel simply blinked; confusion and surprise making a mixed showing upon her features. "Unless you plan on believing me."

So he was willingly giving himself up? Either he was stupid, or he really was dead. Mel nearly groaned. She couldn't help but feel disappointed as she lost interest in ending his life, even if he could be trouble, as he willingly tried to get himself killed. There was something about killing someone who wanted to be killed that just simply wasn't appealing. Nonetheless, she held the screwdriver high. "It's _half_-demon." Why did she even bother correcting him? "And what do you mean 'I'm dead'? You can't be a ghost. I'm talking to you" _When maybe I should be killing you. _She completed in her head. Why was he just giving himself up to be killed? _It's not right. _She thought.

"'I can't be a ghost.' Says the girl who just ejected herself from a stranger's body." Tate sneered down at her as he took a few careless steps back; his arms lowering to his sides. Not even surprised when he found himself under the doorway once again.

With a deep sigh, Mel let go of the screwdriver; hearing the soft sound of the little metal object clinking against the floor. She ignored his comment, yet her eyes lifted to look at his again. "Can you prove you're a ghost in any other way than me _killing_ you?" The words left her lips easy; she'd said that word many times before. Though she had to admit it was never in such a civilized conversation as the one she was having with this strange teenage boy.

The sigh that Mel had released, was mirrored by Tate; his eyes rolling as annoyance became only a little evident in his features. "You wanna see a real trick?" He asked. "I'll prove it."

Of course, Tate's annoyance didn't go past Mel, and a smirk curved her lips as her arms lifted to cross upon her chest. She retaliated the rolling of his eyes. "Right, and you're going to prove it _how, _exactly?" She said; continuing her speech before Tate could even respond. "I mean, I've seen ghosts before. They're ugly, vengeful and bloody; sometimes even quite scary. _You_, on the other hand…" Her words faded away as she took in Tate's full presence for the first time during this whole conversation; making her eyes trail from the toes of his converse to the dark of his eyes. Her lips lifted in that smirk of hers once more. "You're none of those things."

"See, Mel." Tate said, leaning against the doorway wall, again. "Never jump to conclusions around here." He grinned. "I could be all those things, but you just don't know it yet." Tate surprised himself when he sent a wink Mel's way. As his arms crossed, he allowed his eyes to take in all of Mel again; since this time she had no hospital gown on, and instead was covered with really tight clothes, he was simply unable to not let that lustful smirk show. Even a little bit. Again, he was a teenage guy. Mel's head tilted; her eyes narrowing at him once more. "You're not so bad yourself, by the way." Tate said. Making Mel scoff once; her eyes rolling a little as she looked away to the side. Tate took this quick opportunity to allow his skills to show; to prove his point and himself to Mel. He still stood there, leaning against the doorway in front of Mel, but he knew that when Mel looked his way again, all she'd see wold be the empty space where he'd been standing; that veil of the supernatural covering him in a shadowed darkness again.

And that's exactly what happened. When Mel looked in Tate's direction again, her smirk disappeared. He was gone. "Shit." Mel heard herself say. She'd looked away for barely a second. Tate found her expression amusing, but he still didn't let himself be seen. Mel's arms unfolded and fell at her sides; another deep sigh leaving her lips. Her eyes moved quickly to look at the hospital bed, where the redheaded Zandra Barbara Pierce now slept. She looked at the I.V machine, and then at the girl; letting yet another sigh leave her lips. Melany moved away from that room, making sure to close the door behind her. Tate moved, of course; following her movements in that amused manner of his. He followed her all the way to the stairs. Where she climbed maybe a couple of steps before turning around. "Tate…?" She called, trying one last time to find that boy.

He nearly laughed. Her face really was priceless. It's as if she was concerned, surprised and impressed at the same time. But really, Mel only wondered if she was being tricked. Had he ran away to tell people what she could do? Had she been slow? Tate walked around her; climbing the stairs to stand nearly in front of her. Mel felt a soft chill running down her spine; like a breeze had just gone past her. But there was no wind. The way she had called his name got under Tate's skin, even though the gruffness of her accent made him cringe. There was something about her that was different. Weird. Even attractive; he shook his head, climbing a couple of steps more until he could sit on the step just above the one she was standing on. He rested his elbows against his knees and finally let his guard down to allow himself to be seen once more. "Should've made a bet on who's trick was most impressive first, huh?"

Mel's breath came in with a gasp as she felt her eyes turning black in reaction response again; her body turning in a quick motion to look behind her once she heard Tate's soft voice so close to her. This time Tate had to laugh. Mel simply rolled her eyes; she wasn't being played. He really was a ghost. She let her guard down now. There was no danger near her; and so her eyes slowly faded to that human blue again. The smirk that crossed her lips was a simple reaction of Tate's laughter. She was quite amused as well. "Impressive." She said as one of her hands lifted to rest against the railing; her eyes looking directly at him. There seemed to be no question of weather he was a ghost or not, he definitely was, but then there was the question of the other little detail Tate had let slip through his lips. "So, ghost boy." Mel said, her stance relaxed as she looked down at the eyes of that strange teenage boy. "You live— Pardon, you _reside_ here, you said? Along with others?" Tate nodded. The amusement in his smile was still evident. "How _many_ others?"

"More than you'll probably enjoy having around." Tate smiled as softly as he could as he stood up and down a stair alongside Mel. His eyes, though, they looked blankly in the direction of the open door to of the basement. "Most of them will steer clear of you; the ones that don't…" He looked down to look at Mel's brilliant blue eyes again. "You'll just have to flash those freaky little eyes of yours at." The next motion he did surprised even him. He'd nudged her arm with an elbow. To which he had to laugh. He was acting as if he knew this girl; this freaky little demon girl, was his friend. "_Half-demon_ he could hear her voice the way she had corrected him earlier, in his head, and had to laugh. Man, this new owner would be interesting.

"Did I scare you?" Mel asked, lowering her eyes to look down at that elbow that had nudged her, one of her brows lifted, but then she looked at Tate again. "Did I actually _scare_ a bloody ghost?" She chuckled; and even though Tate's smile was defensibly gone, Mel could clearly hear the thoughts that were jumbling up on a positive answer toward her. Scare? Maybe not, but he had been a little freaked out. That made Mel smile, and her head nodded twice. "Ace." Tate looked as the owner's eyes lowered, and even though her smile remained he could tell her mind was elsewhere; and it was. She was thinking, and smiling, at the situation. Ghosts. She was living in a house full of ghosts. _Maybe this house is even more perfect for me than I thought. _She thought as she remembered that one time one of the many people who's lives had been lost to her hands yelled at her "_You will regret this." _She'd said. _"Your past will come to haunt you!" _Well, congratulations, Samantha Boleyn. You were right. She was now residing in a house where the ghosts of many people were trapped. How fit was that? A perfect punishment for all those lives she had taken. _I can live with that._ She looked up at Tate again, surprised to find him looking at her. She smiled again. "So I share a house with the cast of Thirteen Ghosts." Tate's smile was more to stop the laughter from leaving his lips than from the understanding of the reference. "Can't you all just go into the light or some bollocks like that?"

This time Tate _had_ to laugh. And he did; harder than he had laughed in a long time. That fact alone made him reel back a little. Staring at Mel one second too long before he answered. "No." He gave a casual shrug. "No light at the end of the tunnel here. Unfortunately… you die in the property, you stay in the property." He made a pause for a dramatic feeling. "Forever." He finished.

Mel's brows rose. Her curiosity was growing by the second. "Do you know why you lot are stuck here forever?" She asked. "It must be hell."

Tate frowned automatically as the question of time was presented. "I stopped thinking about time a long time ago." He hadn't realized he'd looked down at the ground until he actually had to look up at Mel again. "It'll make you nuts, you know?" He managed a soft half smile, really for both their sakes before simply heaving in and out a sigh.

Mel's head twisted slightly to the side, a soft nod bobbing her head once. Her lips twisted to the side a little as she looked intently at Tate. She could tell time hadn't treated him that well. "Sorry for asking." She said with a somewhat reassuring smile. Yet, as her curiosity hit again, she realized… "Wait," he'd made it sound like he'd been there_ too_ long. "Long? Mind if I ask just _how_ long have you been here?"

"What year is it?" He said, and without even realizing it he started thinking out loud, "Wait, Violet hasn't spoken to me in… almost six years or so…" The name feeling strange and foreign in his lips. He fucking missed her. Numbers clouded his head, along with Violet's face; and after a few short seconds he nodded. "It's been about twenty-two years." He was almost shocked at the number himself when he said it, looking back at Mel. Twenty two years in that hell hole of a house and no friends to show for it. _Although who wants to be friends with someone who'd murdered them? _He thought as an accidental chuckle left his lips. _Fuckers. _

None of that had gone past Mel. The headache, she realized, definitely had to do something with the fact that she was, in fact, reading a ghost's mind. Even when she didn't mean to, the thoughts just came into her own head as if in a radio signal; only without all the static. It made sense too. The headache had definitely grown when she'd had Tate pinned against a wall with nothing but her power. "Huh." She said, simply moving away from the stairway and taking one step closer to the door. He was a murderer. Just like she had been. Of course she couldn't judge, but she couldn't help but be surprised. _How ironic._ As she walked up the stairs she realized she was curious. She wanted to ask Tate what he'd done exactly. But it wasn't really her business. Or maybe it was… Tate was, after all, in her house. Which meant she'd be living in the same place he was… residing in. Even though Tate followed behind her, he couldn't help but wonder if he was supposed to follow. He stopped suddenly, though, when she stopped going up the stairs and turned around to face him. "Wanna help me unpack while you tell me all about this place?" Mel said, surprising, both, herself and Tate. "I mean, I think I deserve to know what happened to all the ghosts here if I'm going to live in the same place as you ghostly lot, yeah?" Her smile was careful. Was she being too bold? What did it matter? She wanted answers; and her point was fair. She _deserved_ to know.

Tate's hands moved to hide inside his pockets as he managed a small shrug and a nod toward Mel. "Yeah." He said. "I can help…" His voice was a little bit unsure as he looked up the stairs again. The only places he'd been in, in many, many years were the basement and the outside, and quite honestly sometimes the inside, of Violet's room. Mel's curiosity nearly spiked through the roof as she realized she was still listening to his thoughts. And she was fucking staring; Tate realized this when he looked at her once more. _Why is she looking at me like that? _He frowned for all of one second before he looked away again, nodding upstairs to urge her to continue walking upstairs. And so she did, having Tate following close behind her.

Tate didn't know what he'd say. But he did know one thing. He was planning, at all costs, to avoid the fact that most of the ghosts that were stuck in that bricked cell were stuck there because of him.

**To Be Continued.**


	4. Chapter 4: Cemetery Drive

Tate Langdon was used to weird. To the point that, even though Melany Stonem was a brand new kind of weird, a few minutes into talking to her he'd gotten used to the fact that she could move objects with her mind, as she seemed to do every time she could as both of them rearranged furniture and un-packed the many things hidden in the confines of many mishandled boxes. Maybe an hour had passed while Tate and Mel arranged the living room to her own likes, and not much had been said; barely the jokes and mentions of the many little mistakes Tate was doing as they both tried to set up the giant television screen or the home theatre, or even the stereo. Technology knowledge wasn't one of Tate's best known traits; for his knowledge in the technology department had pretty much come to an end the same year his life had: 1994. When long-plays and cassette tapes were in their popularity verge, and televisions were big black squared boxes. Mel got a kick out of that since she'd been alive then too. Seeing the change in audio-visual technology had been quite a shock to her, back in 1994. And much like Tate, she had idolised some of the same artists Tate had before he died.

"What's that stand for?" Tate finally asked, breaking the silence, as both of them unpacked an incredible amount of Blu-Reys and DVDs from two boxes. He pointed with one finger toward Mel's dark "MCR" tee.

Mel's eyes followed the direction of his finger, and she found herself smiling. "Oh." She said, looking up toward Tate for a few seconds before speaking again and going back to the unpacking of her movies. "My Chemical Romance." She continued. "It's one of my three favourite bands."

"What'd they play?" Tate asked, genuinely curious. Music was one of his favourite conversation topics.

Mel paused to think for a second. "Rock." She shrugged. "Or alternative rock, whichever you want to call it. Wanna hear?"

Tate nodded; a smile making his curiosity evident. "You have… one of those things… those… eh…?" Tate's fingers clicked together in a snap a few times; _Damn it, what's the name of that music thing? _He hadn't talked about any kind of technology in a very long time, so forgetting the name wasn't that strange to him. Mel's smile grew, she knew very well what Tate was thinking about, but her amusement had her not saying a word. "IPod!" Tate finally said, remembering one fading conversation he once had with Violet about computers and I-everything's. "Do you have an iPod?" He smiled, proud he remembered.

Mel stood, chuckling, from the ground they'd gotten comfortable on to unpack. "I do." She said, walking over to the set home theatre as one of her dainty hands reached inside her back pocket to retrieve the small device. _Small talk. _Mel thought. She was slowly growing tired of it; though Tate seemed to be a nice guy, interested in her music, and movie choices, she really did want to know what had happened in this house. She had only gotten so much from Tate's mind. She needed him to tell her exactly what had gone down. If anything, it was mainly because she had finally realised the source of the headache: Tate. His being a ghost made Mel have to use her brain in ways she hadn't used it in a very long time. It hurt her; but more importantly, it annoyed her.

The iPod was hooked to the home theatre and the soft melody of My Chemical Romance's The World Is Ugly started; breaking into a heavy, yet melodic tune as the song continued. Curiosity was too much for Mel, of course. Headache or not, she had been able to catch a few glimpses of bloody deaths in the past; all from Tate's mind. And a girl; Violet. That name remained like an endless loop inside his head. Mel didn't know if he was aware.

"What?" Tate asked. Making Mel realise, just then, how she'd been staring at him for a little while. "You've been looking at me like I have a target on my fucking forehead all this time." Truth was, he had realised Mel had been watching him. Waiting, surely, for the information he had promised when he'd agreed to help her unpack. He'd been avoiding it. Not wanting to let this stranger think so badly of him so soon. He knew; or he thought he knew, that Mel would hate him as soon as the whole scoop of what had happened in this house for as long as he'd been there, left his lips. He didn't want that. Tate wouldn't dare admit it; but it felt actually somewhat nice to have someone, if anyone, talk to him so nicely. He wanted to prolong that for as long as he could.

"I have?" Mel asked, innocently, as if she hadn't realised Tate had actually been aware of her stares. "Pardon me, I hadn't noticed." Tate's brow lifted, nearly hiding in the blonde messy locks that rested on his forehead; he watched as Mel walked back toward the open box of movies, realising that he wasn't the only one stuck in their own mind. "Think of a number." Mel said, looking up from the box of movies at her feet, surprising Tate; she sat down.

_What the fuck? _"Okay…" Tate said. His brow furrowing as he looked at Mel. _Seven. What the fuck is she doing? How much weirder is this going to get? _Why Melany had decided to share it all with this broken ghost was beyond her; maybe she'd realised that she was going to have to ask out front about the house; or that maybe, like this, he'd know she'd heard most of it already and just needed to know the rest.

"'What the fuck? Seven. What the fuck is she doing? How much weirder is this going to get?'" Mel repeated, in her best masculine voice as she stared right into Tate's eyes; pretty much waiting for him to connect the dots of what had just happened. "By the way." She said in her normal voice. "It's 'how weirder is this going to get?' Not 'how much weirder.' It's grammar, Tate."

At first all Tate could do was stare. Stare, and wonder what the fuck had just happened. And then he understood. His head coked a little before he moved again. "Give me a break." He said. "I didn't exactly get the chance to finish high school. Plus, who cares?" His tone matched hers, so she could know, that he was, in fact, now in on what had happened and the joke was on him. Mel smiled. He really was one of a kind. He didn't show fear when he was pinned against a wall in the basement, and he didn't seem faced by the fact that his thoughts had been read; unique, indeed. Tate finally decided to glance at her and let out the shortest breathy laugh. "How long are you planning on staying up here for…?" He asked; tapping his temple with his index finger; his brows rising in curiosity. "It's not safe." He said; his eyes lowering into the dark threatening shadows they could easily fade into, dangerous, even.

Mel only chucked; and that, had Tate do a double take. Never had someone reacted to him like that when he was being threatening. Mel looked up from the box, and stopped working. She shrugged a shoulder, staring Tate right in the eyes, not minding his dangerous vibes, nor intending to let him know how ready for confrontation she really was; her guard really was always up. "It gives me a headache, since you're a ghost." She admitted. Just how much was she planning to let out to this stranger? "But I've heard enough to know it's better to stay on your good side…" She nodded, and narrowed her eyes a little, barely noticeable, looking right at him. "You'd be surprised how much I actually understand you in all of it… But I do have to ask," her head tilted a little to the side, curious, careful; aware. "Should I be worried that you might kill me like you did the others?" She asked.

_How could she understand? _He thought; staring right at those blue eyes he'd found himself nearly hypnotized in the first time he saw them. He could see she was sincere. _No? Yes..? Stop thinking. _He thought, looking away from her. The frown on his forehead was eminent now; clear before he spoke. He knew now; he couldn't really hide anything from her. "I didn't ask to be like this…" He paused, just so he could shake his head a couple of times. "Like _that_." He corrected himself, mentally referring to all those horrible things he'd done. That's when Mel saw it all. The school shooting, the gay couple, the rape, the girl; it ran like a loud movie inside Tate's head.

No movement or flinch gave away the fact that Mel had seen it all; but Tate knew she had. She'd been in his head all this time, what would stop her from reading now. No more than a few seconds had gone by, and Mel only felt bad; guilty even, for she understood him more that she could admit. "I know you didn't." Her voice came out as something only a few notches louder than a whisper. She understood incredibly. "I didn't ask to be like I am either." She nodded. Her eyes steady on Tate as she cleared her throat; he looked her in the eyes. _You're no one to judge. _Mel reminded herself; and she really wasn't. "So, I get it." She continued, finally in a calm and normal tone.

Tate didn't let any of this face him; his eyes were set on Mel, but mainly because he was curious, curious as to why it was that this blue eyed girl's eyes spoke of deep sincerity with every word she spoke. Was her past just as dark as his? "I won't hurt you, Mel." He said, admitting to himself, surprise, when he realised he actually meant those words. Mel nodded; knowing he was being honest. Heck she knew that he probably knew he couldn't lie to her and get away with it easily now. Tate didn't continue the conversation; he barely looked down, taking out the few last movies from the box. _Don't think, don't think. _He repeated in his mind; but he couldn't stop his mind from reeling; Did she mean she understood because she was half demon_, or… what? Is there more she hasn't told me? _Tate frowned as he looked up at Mel; he nearly found himself frustrated when he saw Mel's light smile. She was listening in. _Get out, Mel. _He thought.

Her eyes lifted; the smile didn't go away; but it became apologetic. "Why don't you just ask?" she said, closing the, now, empty box where all her movies had been. She stood with a bunch of movies in her hands so that she could set them in the big wooden stand near the television; she knew Tate had been almost as bad as she had been; almost. But maybe, just maybe he could understand her. He already knew some of her secrets; he might as well know them all. She turned around to face a confused Tate, who was slowly standing, also with a bunch of movies in his hands, to copy Mel on her actions. "If you promise not to tell…" Mel started, following Tate with her eyes as he approached her. "I can answer all your questions. After all, you're going to reside in the same house I am for a long while." She nodded. Tate only stared. "You've let me in your head." Tate's lips parted to protest, but Mel's hand lifted in a light motion. "Unwillingly," she said before he could speak, he closed his mouth and tilted his head slightly. "But you have." She continued. "If you want, I can let you in mine. Ask away." Mel smiled, trying to ignore the irony of the fact that she was about to let a stranger ghost in about all the things she'd done if he asked. _It's only fair. _She thought, and waited for Tate to speak.

"I promise." Tate spoke; sitting down in front of the wooden movie rack, setting the pile of movies he'd brought over on the ground beside him, and crossing his legs underneath him, inviting Mel to sit along him; as she did. Without hesitation, after leaning back slightly onto his palms on the floor, he flooded Mel with questions. "Why are you here?" He started. "Not just in this house; your accent." He pointed at her for a second, waving his finger on her direction before placing his hand back on the ground. "It gives you away. And, _half_-demon, or not…" Tate's eyes narrowed lightly, keeping his eyes on her, aware of any little reaction Mel had to his questions. "What else is that guilt in your eyes from?"

Mel forced a smile to cross her lips as she recognised the many obvious questions that left Tate's lips, and she let out a breath that she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. She finally spoke. "I'm from Cambridge." She nodded. "England. That's where my accent's from." Her eyes had lowered for all of a couple of short seconds before she actually looked Tate in the eyes again. "I'm not actually as young as I look," she continued, "and I've got blood in my hands too. I wasn't always able to control my power, like I do now. And I…" Mel blinked; she knew she had to say the words; Tate's curious eyes pried a hole in the middle of her skull. But guilt suddenly overpowered her and she had to look down; a frown crossing her otherwise smooth forehead. She had to. "I killed my entire family." She finally said. Tate's eyes didn't narrow anymore; he barely just looked at her, curious; surprised. "The officials thought it was just a fire, and… It was. Just…" this next pause was a little longer than Tate would have liked. "I'd started that fire. It was all my fault." Tate leaned a little closer, his palms no longer on the ground, but his elbows rested on his knees. "Then… In a moment of pride, I ended up killing about 56 or 57 people in a factory… One of those people was my best friend." Mel wished Tate could just see it all in her mind just like she had. In a big movie where she didn't really have to say the words. "I killed the only person who would really love me for everything I was… And then I just…" She could see it all in her head. Too clear… as if it'd only been yesterday. "I went crazy with grief. I just killed… for fun. For power. I enjoyed seeing the blood run down the walls… the life leaving someone's eyes as they begged me to stop; as they told me they had families to get back to. That only made me want to kill them the more." Mel couldn't continue speaking; her eyes closed. Tate simply stared, he was surprised all of this had been hiding in those water-like eyes; he didn't pry, though. He knew just how difficult it was to admit to everything he'd done, out loud, to someone. He knew how Mel felt. And he surprised himself by leaning forward; overwhelmed by comprehension. One of his hands rested on Mel's knee; it was as if that single touch had pulled her away from all those blood-filled thoughts. "I've killed more people than I can count…" Mel spoke again. "Or remember." Mel hadn't realised one lonely tear had made a light trail down her cheek until she had to wipe it off. Her throat cleared of the knot that had formed there, and she finally looked up at Tate, once again. "You ask why I'm here… Well," Her voice wasn't broken anymore. Her guard was up once again. Just like that. "I needed a new start." She said. "I'm done killing people."

Tate understood. He really did. He knew that feeling all too well; he had never known anyone who could understand exactly how that raw guilt felt. He didn't know what to say. "You'll like it here." Is all that he could manage. He knew no one could comfort a killer. He knew it all too well. So he simply allowed himself to smile at her, reassuringly, before he leaned back, sighing softly.

Mel simply stared; a small smile crossed her lips as her eyes watered slightly. But she blinked them quickly; she didn't want to cry. Not here. Not now. Tate understood her; she could see it in his mind; it was as if all those feelings had no explanation. She was grateful of being understood. "Thanks, Tate." She said toward him. Thanking him for more than only his words. "I really hope so." These secrets… they were only Mel's; and she had never told them to anyone at all. Ever. But now she had, and to none other than this ghost that she had just met a few hours ago. It had felt good to finally say it. _No. _She thought. _Not good. Just better than hiding it. _Maybe, just maybe she didn't have to hide anything from this ghost friend who understood her better than anyone had ever done. _Almost _anyone. "So." She said. Wiping the unshed tears away from her eyes, and forcing that smile across her lips once more, a clear of her throat bringing her voice to return to the tone she had had before speaking about any of her past; My Chemical Romance's Helena was playing in the background. Her hands moved to place some movies in the wooden stand. "Do you like My Chemical Romance, then?"

Tate smiled, just a second after Mel looked at him again. _The topic is closed, then_. He thought. And he was grateful. Not only had he uncovered this mysterious demon girl's secrets… but he had also discovered someone who understood the very pain and guilt that flooded through him every single day. Darkening his path. Maybe now… Yeah… _Maybe now I won't feel so alone._ He thought. Little did he know, Mel had heard that thought. And she thought the exact same thing.

**To Be Continued.**


	5. Chapter 5: Nine Crimes

"What year did you die in, again?" Mel wondered with a little smirk lighting her lips as the thin walls of the house made the music that came from the living room toot as if the speakers were set right beside both residents of Murder House; they'd moved to the kitchen now. The sun had started setting, and new shadows were created along the confines of the monumental house. Tate and Mel had spent so much time fixing the lower level of the house that the only room left to unpack and fix there was the kitchen; they'd talked about music, and the very amusing subject of the technology Tate didn't seem to understand very well. It was that, in fact, the subject they were on at that precise moment. "I mean, how much electronic knowledge will I have to teach you, hm?"

Tate's digits moved along the shiny silverware as he set each piece in the designated drawer that Mel had pointed him towards. "'94" His eyes didn't leave his active hands; it had been a very long time since he'd actually had something to do, something to distract him, so his attention really was fully on his duties... and he really had grown to like Mel in the half day he'd gotten to know her.

"Same year as Kurt Cobain." Mel nodded, smiling slightly and letting out what could have been an interrupted laugh. "Cool."

"You like Nirvana?" Tate's tone was amused, surprised, and genuinely proud. For once his eyes left his work, only to find themselves posed on a comfortably sitting Mel.

"Of course I like Nirvana. It's one of the best bands to ever exist." The click clatter of the knife Mel was playing with led a light sounding echo as it hit the hard surface of the kitchen island repeatedly. Coincidentally enough, right at that moment the music changed in a melodic notion towards the beginning of Nirvana's Negative Creep. Both Mel and Tate smiled.

"Are you planning on helping there, body snatcher, or...?" Tate placed yet another spoon inside the drawer, not having realised before, that Mel really had just been sitting down playing with that shiny knife. His smile was surprisingly playful as his eyes staid on Mel.

This alone had Melany smiling; and just like that she jumped off of the stool as soft words, reciprocating Tate's playful tone, left her lips. "You know I have a name, right, Casper?" Her steps made a soft sound against the kitchen floor as she approached Tate to hand him the knife she'd been playing with. When he took it, showing her a simple smug smile, Mel turned around to pick up a box that she knew was full of porcelain tea cups and plates.

The silence between the two continued and the music made the background; yet both of them had started to allow their minds to wonder. And, as fate would have it, they were both thinking about each other's past. For once, Mel wasn't paying attention to Tate's thoughts, for her own had started going around the many different detailed things she'd seen in his mind before. The deaths of all the residents of the house really mesmerised her; and the different relationships Tate had formed: with that Violet girl, with the two gay guys he'd killed, but especially with that lady from the twenties stuck in her basement; the sense of motherly love he'd grown to have for her impressed Mel, and it made her understand him a little more. Or so she thought.

Meanwhile, as Tate unpacked a full box of plates, he wondered what it had been for Mel to kill all those people. He wondered what if had been for her to see her family die out in a fire, knowing that it she had been the reason for their demise. He wanted to know how she felt, to know if he could relate in any way; he knew, of course, that he could relate when it came to the rest: killing people, enjoying the kill, the blood and the rush. He knew what it was like to have to pretend he didn't like it, and he knew what Mel must have felt when all those innumerable amount of people had died under her own hands. And he wanted to know more; he found himself wondering, curious to know what had happened, curious to understand this strange little demon girl better.

"Crap."

Mel's words totally pulled both of them from their wondrous reveries, and Tate was solely putting one of the plates on a cupboard when he decided to look back at her in curiosity. "What?" Tate said with his hand completely frozen on the cupboard door.

"I'm going to need more cups and plates to fill this place." Mel's eyes were on a couple of empty cupboards, as a completely empty box dangled by the lid between Mel's index and thumb.

Tate unfroze and even felt whatever was left of a smile cross his lips; his arm lowered after the cupboard door was finally closed. "I think you're just going to need more stuff in general. This place is _huge."_

"Yeah?" Mel had started piling up empty boxes on one corner of the kitchen, but her eyes still moved to look at him curiously. "I did read that there's about six bedrooms and about eight bathrooms. I was thinking of buying more beds..." Her lips twisted slightly to the side as one of her hands lifted to scratch the top of her head after placing another box on the pile of empty ones. "I only have the one for me."

With a nodding head Tate walked over toward one of the two remaining closed boxes full of stuff, and he lifted it from the sparkling linoleum to place it on the countertop of the kitchen island. "It's a big hell hole for just you." He took the precision cutter that rested near the sink and slid it in the middle of the taped box lids, dividing its tape in two. "Anybody else coming to live with you?" He asked with a slightly too curious gaze; genuinely wondering and guiltily hoping for a no. He liked Mel, and he feared for anyone else who came here; at least Mel already knew the whole story of this house. Or; well, most of the story.

"'Course not." Mel admitted as she walked over to the lonely box on the floor; she lead it to the counter across from where Tate was and took the cutter he had been using to open the box in front of her. "All my family is dead, I killed the only friend I ever had, the only person who knew everything about me, and honestly I don't date people in fear I'll end up killing them." Her confiding words left a light echo around the kitchen, for the music had been in the middle of changing. As she looked over at Tate, who had stopped moving to stare at her, with a reassuring smile, Helena by My Chemical Romance started playing. "So, nope. It's all me and my lonesome in this huge place."

"Hmm. No." Tate started moving again, taking out the few wine cups and party glasses, wanting to slightly correct Mel in her words. "You, me, a couple of homos, the entire Harmon family and a shit load of other nut jobs." He said as his hands brushed from any kind of dust on his jeans, that knowing smile never left his lips. "What else do you have over there?"

Mel had been staring at him while he spoke; sure, she had gotten the whole Tate Langdon storyline from his mind, but he didn't know if that was all there was to this house. And suddenly here it was confirmed; there was a lot more to learn from this house than just the few deaths she'd seen in his head. But her eyes lowered to look at the box that she had in front of her and a frame she had in her hands. She blew away the residue dust from it. "A painting of home." She answered, setting the frame down on the counter and shrugging a shoulder. "Weird, I know. But it's that and whatever the fire officers could save from the fire. Most of it is in my room." Tate had nodded and turned around to set the cups and wine glasses on one of the empty cupboards; he was turning back to pick more glasses when Mel looked up and spoke again. "How many 'nut hobs'" She voiced, lifting both her hands to make little air quotes with her fingers, "reside here exactly?"

"I don't know exactly how many ghosts there actually are..." Tate realised as his hands reached inside the box again, retrieving what looked like a very old set of silverware. "Twenty, maybe?" Taking one of the spoons, he breathed onto the inside of it and stuck the moist part onto his nose, making Mel smile slightly and shake her head with a soft laughter when he winked and looked down, removing the spoon from his nose. "Most of them are here because of me." He admitted, finally, out loud; setting the spoon down with the group of old silverware as his face hardened some. Mel knew what was happening. Tate had let her see the whole thing in his head, but it seemed like now he wanted to actually speak it. Mel stood where she was; suddenly stopping any movement she'd been doing to take out picture frames and art things from the box. She listened, waiting, knowing Tate wanted to speak. "Mrs. Harmon..." He finally continued. "That's my fault. Chad and Patrick, the fucking queens..." Mel leaned on the counter, her elbow resting on the counter as her chin rested on her hand. "Violet..." Tate could feel Mel watching, and he could also feel a lump forming in his throat; a lump that he cleared out as he shook his head subtly. "I didn't really kill her; I would never hurt her, but... I couldn't save her either." A soft cough left Tate's lips; a cough he used to hide or avoid any short sign of weakness that his voice threatened to show. He picked up the silverware off of the counter and shrugged his shoulders, turning around to place said silverware on an empty drawer. "There're a couple of other random people... but it was necessary. I don't feel bad."

Mel's eyes lowered at the wooden box with hollowed spaces for knifes that lay in the box, taking it out and placing it on the counter, she realised that there was one thing that had really popped out from all the other things in his whole story. "Did she ever tell you it was your job to save her?" She reached into the box again, taking out a very thick looking newspaper package, where all the knives were hidden.

At her words Tate turned around, nearly getting a short whiplash, not needing to be a mind reader like Mel to know who she was even referring to. "What?" He frowned, looking at her with his eyes shooting bullets. "No. She didn't have to. That was just... Nothing should have happened to her." Tate looked at Mel; glancing as calmly as he could at her while he took a deep breath, dropping his hands at his sides. "She won't even speak to me anymore." He sighed. "Or ever again."

"Why?" Mel spoke without even pausing for a breath; and she knew the question had been sudden, and she also knew exactly what had happened, but she needed to hear it. She didn't know what it was, but she needed it to hear it said out loud from his lips, not as a loud movie in his head. Still, after so bluntly speaking her mind she lowered her eyes respectfully to continue unwrapping the knives. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course. This is none of my business. I'm just curious."

Tate stared at her, astounded, for a long time, with a cold but helpless look on his face. He knew very well that she wanted him to say it; what other reason could there be, if she had seen it all before? She had, right? His eyes remained on Mel, who made no movement or clue to let him even know if she had even been in his mind just then. _Goddamn it, Mel. _He thought as he bounced back and forth from one Converse'd foot to the other as he wondered how to start... or if he even wanted to tell her at all. His hand reached up quickly to scratch the back of his neck to then slowly take a few steps back until his back was against the other counter. "I did something bad. I was just trying to help Nora." _So that's the name of the girl in the basement. _Mel thought as she looked up finally at a speaking Tate; he motioned with a finger to the linoleum under him, clearly motioning toward the basement. "She just wanted a baby so bad..." This was the moment of truth; the one thing that ripped his soul apart whenever he even admitted it to himself. Even then, he didn't truly say the words... His eyes stayed on the yellowed material of his once white converse as his voice became barely a whisper. "Violet's mom died... after she had the baby..." His eyes lifted to meet Mel again, who had not once taken her glistening blue eyes from his dark brown ones; he couldn't say the words she needed him to say, but he knew that Mel could connect the dots on her own. He couldn't even hold her gaze for long; his eyes lowered to his shoes again as a long sigh left his lips. "Violet hates me." He could already feel his lip quivering before he could even think of stopping it.

The room was silent as both Mel and Tate drank in his words; Mel's hair bounced a little as her head nodded, she didn't know if he even wanted to hear what she wanted to say; no, that was a lie. She knew he didn't really know if she was going to speak, all he could think about was Violet. It nearly felt like an eternity to her before she actually decided to speak. "She'll forgive you." She comforted. "I mean, she has to. Forever is a long time to hold a grudge, yeah?"

At that moment, as Tate's eyes lifted to look at the blue eyed demon girl, he contemplated taking the bait for having hope; sadly he decided that it would all really make him feel worse. With a twist of one side of his face, he lifted both his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Yeah." He said, shaking the thoughts of Violet away from his mind while his hand rested on the edge of the counter behind him. He started to feel sick; pissed off, and he showed it by gripping tightly onto the hard surface of the edge of the counter, feeling his teeth gritting against each other while he stared at the box on the island; waiting until he could collect himself again.

Mel could understand exactly every little thought behind his anger; behind the way he gripped the counter, behind the darkened look his eyes had started to take. It seemed like the same kind of thing she felt whenever her anger got out of place, and whenever the black shade on her eyes showed in such moments. "I can tell you love her." Mel heard herself saying beside her carefulness. She stood straight from the island counter and carefully walked over to where Tate slumped against the other one. "Be patient. Treat her right." Without even thinking twice about it, she realised her hand had lifted to rest on his shoulder. "You can have anything if you want it enough. Even her." With a solemn nod of her head she decided to finish speaking, if anything, before she said something that ended up being too much. "She'll forgive you."

Tate slunk even further onto the counter with a groan. He realised he hadn't talked about Violet for such a long time that he had even nearly forgotten just how goddamn much he actually missed her. Tate didn't exactly brush off Mel's comforting, but he knew it was hard to even accept it. Especially then, that he knew what he had done. He wouldn't talk to himself either, really. Yet he pushed himself off of the counter and took a couple of steps away from Mel, using the fridge as an excuse to move, to change the subject; to stop talking about those things that he could simply not fix whether he tried, or wanted, to or not. Mel's hand dropped to her side in a soft slapping noise against the counter a couple of second before Tate opened his mouth again. "How about you order pizza? I won't believe you if you say you're not hungry after nearly a day of unpacking shit. You seem to have nothing in your fridge."

Mel's brow raised a little and she looked down at her own shoes, knowing exactly the way he felt to not want to mention anything else. A new subject, moving on. And don't bring it up again. Right? She simply raised her head and walked over to the living room, leaving Tate on his own in the kitchen. He thought he'd fucked up; closing the fridge, he thought that Mel would want him off on his way now that the cat was actually fully out of the bag. His fears were almost confirmed when the music that had been playing on the background got cut off. _Shit, _he thought. And he was honestly about to disappear from Mel's sight when she walked back into the kitchen; her cell phone in her hand. With a smile on her lips, one that she had nearly forced there, she looked up at Tate and shook her phone a little. "I don't have a home phone yet, obviously. So," She grinned again, moving closer to him. "Pepperoni or Hawaiian?" Clearly, and to Tate's gratefulness, the subject had been dropped.

**To Be Continued.**


	6. Chapter 6: Back To The Old House

Mel's phone was hung up after a very easy order of two medium pizzas, sodas, a "cheesy half-moon bread" and chips was ordered. Tate, of course, had been mouthing instructions to her while she ordered; a fact that had Mel smiling nearly from ear to ear as she tried to pay attention to both the guy on the phone and Tate's words. She had even flailed once or twice as the order was being said. Yet, now, Tate seemed as quiet as a mute person, which had Mel nearly rolling her eyes now; her hand was shifting slightly to remove the elastic that she always kept around her wrist, just in, case before her arms lifted to gather her hair around and tie it in a neat ponytail. "Of course _now_ you keep quiet, ghost boy."

Tate laughed; which felt strange to him, for he hadn't laughed so genuinely for an incredibly long time; that fact alone had his laugh coming to a halt all too soon. He nodded shortly before clearing his throat. "So," he shifted subjects swiftly, "have you just read about the place or have you actually seen the whole house?" His finger twirled around in the air as he motioned around him.

Mel was lowering her arms from tightening her ponytail when she replied to his question. "I knew the house had to be mine as soon as I saw it online, which means I only really took the tour as procedure..." She nodded once. "_Which_ means I barely paid any attention at all; I kept telling that Marcy woman that I knew I wanted the bloody place, I think she just didn't like the idea of not doing her job. I can't even remember what she showed me, I was so impatient." Mel's light laughter echoed around the now organised kitchen.

"Well, then, now that the house is yours, do you want me to show you around?" Tate's hand motioned calmly toward the kitchen doorway, and as Mel lifted her eyebrows he took a couple of steps toward it.

"Sure; I'm in for that. Cheers." She replied, securing her cell phone in her back pocket and taking a few steps toward the doorway herself.

Tate didn't really understand much of why he wanted to keep along with Mel's company, but he did; he felt like now that his whole story was out the fact that Mel still wanted to be around him spoke heaps. Then again, Mel had been a murderer herself; who was she to judge? And who was he to judge her either? His eyes met the closed basement door; and just then his hand lifted to rest on the banister while his eyes turned to look back at a following Mel. "I think you should stay out of the basement."

Mel's curious eyes lifted to look from the basement door to Tate's knowing eyes as her brows rose once more at his words. "Why?" And then she remembered a very important detail... "Wait... Is the redhead in danger?"

Tate remembered the strange little scene between the Mel he could see now and the girl she'd swapped bodies with. _Right_. He thought. "You shouldn't leave her there." He answered. "Not overnight."

"Why? What's down there?" Mel wondered, as her head tilted slightly to the side, curious.

"Charles Montgomery is down there," Tate said while he started up the stairs with Mel closely following behind him. "Him and his Frankenstein child." Mel found herself completely intrigued by Tate's words; so intrigued, that as he continued speaking she walked nearly too close to him on the stairs. "That thing killed two kids in this house back in the late 70's. I don't exactly know the details; it was before I was born, but I do know those twins are a menace."

"Coming from you, that's big." Mel teased in a playful tone as a little smirk took over her lips. Her mind making a little mental note that these two kids were yet another couple of ghosts to add to the lengthy list.

Tate simply shook his head, with a grin lighting his lips, as he led Mel over to the hallway of the second floor. "Charles lost it." He continued without truly acknowledging Mel's words. "A long time ago he fucking lost it. Now he cuts shit into pieces for fun."

"So this place is full of murderers, then." It really wasn't a question.

Tate scoffed as he stopped in his tracks to turn around and talk to Mel face to face. "No; not everyone here wants you dead." He confided quickly to her; glad she seemed to be paying full attention to what he was saying. "Some of them just want you out; and they'll try to 'scare' you out of here." Tate didn't know why a smile had suddenly appeared across his lips when he said those words and lifted both his hands to make air quotes, but as soon as he was done, he continued walking.

"You probably already know I won't be that easy to scare off." Mel joked.

"Yeah, wait until you see what they all can do together." Tate replied with a teasing smile.

Mel found herself chuckling, but her mind suddenly wondered about the many other ghosts that Tate hadn't told her about as he led her along the hallway; pointing here and there as he continued with the many stories concerning the rooms, the bathrooms and the hallway itself. Mel, of course, paid full attention to everything he had to say, especially when a brand new story of a ghost resurfaced with the room background and what not. Yet, as they both went along to the second set of stairs that lead to the third floor Mel found herself wondering why it had been that out of the many ghosts that seemed to reside here, Tate had been the first one to show himself to her; specially if what he'd told her was true: that some ghosts would want to scare her off. Would they be insanely cliché ghosts and wait until it was fully dark and she was in bed to try and play their version of a nightmare on her? "Whoa." Mel's tone of surprise jerked her off from her own thoughts when she realised that she had not only crashed against a suddenly frozen Tate in front of her, but also gotten a little bit more unbearable headache than before. "What is it?" Mel asked to the unmoving Tate as she stepped out from behind him to try and look at his face.

Tate let out a rather long sigh before he unfroze to stop looking in the direction of the door that belonged to the very Violet Harmon he had been thinking about nearly all day long regardless of distractions or even Mel herself. His throat cleared as he lifted his eyes to look at a rather curious Mel before he spoke. "That was... is..." He corrected himself. "Violet's room." And once those words were said, it looked as if he was able to unfreeze completely, taking quick steps along the hallway to lead Mel away from that door, honestly hoping Mel followed him away; just anywhere but there. But, of course, nothing was ever that easy. Tate simply sighed as he realised that clearly Mel had not followed behind him.

Just behind that door, with the smallest of opening cracks, Violet Harmon stood curiously; her eyes posed completely on the tall looking, brunette woman that had been standing so closely behind Tate, hoping and wishing that whoever that woman was wouldn't try to open the door. It had already been enough that Violet had been completely surprised by the approaching voice of the one guy that confused her more than any math test; but it was a whole other surprise to see this young teenager-looking girl following behind. Could she be the new owner? She looked barely a couple of years older that Violet herself. Suddenly she felt a burning anger inside of her dead heart, wondering fully why she suddenly felt incredibly jealous of this new woman; so much, truly, that Violet couldn't really decide the true reason for her to keep looking form that tiny crack on the barely opened door: curiosity... or jealousy.

Mel's eyes shifted to the door as soon as Tate said Violet's name, and ignoring her pounding headache, she pushed her mind along to try and see if she could hear the thoughts of the girl who could be hiding behind that door. Yet, as she kept her eyes there, she realised that there was the tiniest of openings on the door; and Mel could swear she could she someone's eye, yet her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned a little closer toward the door to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. But just at that moment, when Violet realised the woman had actually seen her, she gasped and backed off from the door; closing it quickly, flinching automatically once she realised that the velocity she had taken to close the door had made it slam somewhat loudly. That was the moment that Violet realised Tate had called her by her name when he explained to this woman where this door led. _Just how much did he tell her about this house?_ Violet wondered. _And why is she not running away from here already?_

Mel had, actually, taken a step back once the door had so angrily closed shut; but she could still hear the voice of what she imagined that young girl would sound like in her mind; a longing for the man so close to her in the hallway echoed from Violet's mind, and Mel wondered if Violet even realised how much she seemed to miss him. "That's pretty much it up here, Mel." Tate's voice echoed in the silent hallway as he turned around at the sound of the slamming door; the sound quickly made his shoulders curl down in shame while he looked at the closed door, and then back up to the very curious Mel, who was still looking right at it.

"Yeah." Mel said automatically, as she turned to look at Tate again, taking slow but sure steps toward the frozen guy that looked at her. Once he was at whispering distance, she leaned somewhat closer to him to speak of what she'd been able to hear. "She misses you, Tate." Mel admitted before she could back off from her curious decision.

At that moment Tate truly froze; staring only at the freshly closed door that led to the girl he rightfully loved. _Misses me?_ Tate thought; unable to speak at all. Mel nodded. _No._ "She said—she thought that?" His eyes and face both turned completely to look at Mel, while the few blonde curls that had been resting on his forehead bounced along with his shaking head. Even if Mel had replied, Tate knew that he might have not been able to hear her, for his mind had been juggling at the thought of hearing Violet's voice again; of touching her face. And he was fairly certain that his hopeful face had begun to radiate a strange kind or anger toward Mel for having told him that. Violet missing him? _There's no way_.

"I wouldn't say it if I hadn't heard it" Mel quickly voiced, nodding her head once as she noticed the familiar anger growing inside him; her arms lifted slowly to cross against her chest just a couple of seconds before she cautiously turned around and started walking over to the stairs once more.

Tate couldn't move still, yet he saw Mel making her way towards the stairs. He felt every muscle in his body tighten before he could even force himself to take a few hasty steps toward the freshly locked door. The hallway felt like it went on forever, and by the time he finally reached Violet's door his knuckles were white from holding his fists so incredibly tightly. He reached out with a steady hand to shake the doorknob; just barely...

It was locked.

Tate's shoulders sunk, and he was not entirely sure if it was from relief or disappointment; probably the latter. No; it was disappointment. He should've known it was locked; of course Violet wanted nothing to do with him. Yet, inside, Violet had been listening intently; she had heard shifting outside the door, and only one set of steps fading away and far from her door. "Shit." She'd whispered, and a soft gasp left her lips when she saw the failed attempt to twist open the doorknob. Tate. It had to be, she knew it had to be; Violet stayed two feet, or one, away from the door; and right away she could feel the tears start to build up in her eyes; and she automatically started to hate that stupid curse of hers; but she didn't cry. Before Tate could do anything about it his forehead had crashed against the door and he barely heard the thud it made. His left hand reached up and flattened itself onto her door, and he swallowed so loud he could hear it in his ears; little did he know, that right at the other side of the door, Violet's palm had lifted to rest against the cold door to her room, reaching for that touch she couldn't stand to miss. _Tate._ She thought; outside, Tate's palm turned into a fist slowly as he found himself tempted to bang as hard as he could on the door to her room; or twist the doorknob till the lock gave, but he didn't; instead he just backed up against the wall and sank down into a sitting position with his legs out in front of him; defeated.

Violet automatically felt silly, and her hand lowered from the soft material of the door to rest by her side; suddenly she felt this powerful wave of anger taking over her, anger so powerful that he almost didn't recognise how angry it made her until her foot had hit against the wall beside the door. The noise it made sounded too loud against her ears. "Ow." She whispered as low as she could, and she wondered angrily if Tate was still out there. Quite honestly, Violet felt like she wanted to slap across the face that side of her that truly wished he was. And she stood there, looking angrily at that shinny doorknob; yet, before she could even stop herself, her hand lifted to unlock the door, keeping it closed. Wondering in an angry manner why the fuck she even wanted to see the man who he couldn't stand to love so damn badly.

Outside, Tate's head raised when a simple clicking noise tooted slightly close to him; his eyes widened and his lips parted unbelievingly. _No way_. He thought as he stared at the handle of the door in shock. His face was still cold, and he could feel the burning sensation start to make its way to his eyes. Before he could stop himself he was shuffling to his feet, dusting off his hands on the back of his jeans. His jaw dropped slightly as he set his hand loosely on Violet's doorknob again. His palms were soaked in sweat; his breath was so erratic that he had to force himself to take a few deep breaths before he could finally turn the doorknob, even one bit... And then it moved. Tate could feel the frown quickly being replaced by a smile; a hopeful smile, a smile that asked for all of that to be real and not only a dream. Because, truly, Tate Langdon couldn't believe what was happening; even when the doorknob turned completely. And then it hit him: Violet had unlocked the door for him.

Tears had almost reached his eyes; but he forced the door to open. First a little, then more and then a little more until half of his body could enter the room; and then he saw her. Violet. The one girl who had ever made him want to change, if only a little, but change nonetheless. She was there, in front of him; just the way he remembered her ;oh how he had missed seeing her; even the soft golden hair falling so neatly on her back. He felt like he was finally home... "Violet?"

**To Be continued. **


	7. Chapter 7: Demolition Lovers

Violet Harmon felt like time was flowing slowly; and it hurt her. Usually the days would feel like weeks, and the weeks would feel like months; but this time, as she stared at the ruffled bed sheets on the bed she'd started walking towards, the seconds themselves seemed like years. The very tired and hopeful voice of Tate Langdon had reached her; a simple and soft calling of her name and the residues of what had once been her heart started beating as wildly as butterfly wings against the confines of her chest. Yet, finally, after what seemed like a goddamn eternity, she turned to look at him; her eyes contained the tears that wanted to escape at that moment. The sudden feeling of sickness overwhelmed her once her eyes set on the nervous guy standing at her door, yet somehow she started feeling incredibly happy again; she hated it. She realised just how much she had really missed him; but then she remembered everything he did to her mother... and she felt sick again. _Goddamn it, Tate; why?_ Violet thought. "Yeah?" She whispered; realising that that small word was all she could let out at this moment. _Why did you have to ruin this?_ She wondered, again.

Tate's eyes blinked once in wonder, and he felt absolutely silly as the words to the famous Shakespeare play ran inside his mind. _She speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel. _If the situation hadn't dazzled him, he'd probably had laughed. It was, truly, as if his brain were trying to lock the sound of Violet's voice away and keep it forever. His fingers tapped one time, with the hand that was still on the outside of the door as he realised that he really hadn't been as close to her as he was at that moment in a very incredibly long time. His throat had closed in with the overwhelming feeling of relief at her not sending him away; so he cleared his throat before mumbling in a soft tone. "Can I... come in?" His eyes never left her unmoving frame.

"Why?" Violet asked. "What do you want?" Her voice hadn't come out as harsh as she had expected it to come out; especially at that question; instead it had echoed calm.

_What do I want?_ Tate wondered in his mind. _You, Violet. I want you. _He replied to his mental question; yet all he let out was a heavy sigh. His mind went wild with words; sentences, many options to what he could say as he wondered what the right words to say were. His fingers played with the doorknob as he took a step further inside the room while the fear of her sending him away overpowered him completely; yet that same thought had him feeling a little defensive. "Well, you unlocked the door, Vi." He stated. "There's gotta be a reason for that."

"Yeah." Violet said once more before looking down to her converse shoes; her arms had lifted to cross against her chest to stop herself from running into his arms, for that was the only thing she wanted to do; that, or, as the angry side of her wanted to, run over to where he was and fucking strangle him. Either way, she stopped herself from either action as her mind reeled with the reality of what she had just done. _I opened the lock, 'cause I wanted to see you. _Violet said inside her head._ Because some sick part of me wanted to lay eyes on you again. Because I miss you, and I love you and-_ "I know." Was all that left her lips; she really wanted to say the words she was thinking; she really did, but she couldn't find it in herself to do it, for every ounce of her being felt sick to her stomach at simply looking at him. "I thought you were gone." She said; trying to remain calm.

Tate took yet another step into the room of this wonderful girl he loved and closed the door behind him. "Gone?" He felt like his dead heart had been stabbed once again. The light click of the door made him let go of the doorknob and take a step back until he could lean against the cool wood. He felt himself looking at Violet with a confused expression. "Where the hell would I go, Violet? I've been _right here._"

"I meant not in the same floor, Tate." Automatically, once his steps had tooted against the floorboards, Violet took a couple of steps back. The truth was that she wanted to be close to him; but she knew very well that if she got _too_ close, whatever was left of the anger and sick feeling inside her would fade away, leaving only the side that wanted to kiss those lips she'd missed all this time. The same lips she cursed daily. "I'm sure you knew what I meant." She said as the silence continued; looking up to see why Tate hadn't answered her. She felt slightly surprised when her back touched the smooth metal of her bed frame; one of her hands untangled from their crossing and rested on the fresh metal.

Tate's head tilted slightly as a weird and overwhelming sensation of anger took over him. He was starting to feel somewhat pissed at her snarky remarks; yet as soon as he felt angry, he started to feel flustered as well. He was never angry at Violet. Ever. Tate wondered if maybe it had been the fact that Melany had told him that Violet had missed him. Whatever the reason, the anger was there; and it alone forced him to blurt out his next words. "How many times do you want me to tell you I'm sorry...?!"

Violet couldn't truly do anything else but scoff. "I know you're sorry!" She replied. "It doesn't change the fact that I can't forgive you." Her words, she realised, had started to become slowly silent; and the feeling of carefulness and awareness she got every time she was around him overwhelmed her incredibly. She welcomed it completely; but she hated herself for even admitting to herself just how much she had missed him.

"For how long?" Tate quickly pushed himself away from the door as he took a couple of few cautious steps directly towards her; his hands coming up in front of him in a desperate motion with his palms directed toward the ceiling. The curls that had rested on his forehead moved back and forth along with his shaking head. "I sit in that hallway _every_ goddamn night, Violet. I _miss_ you."

"And you think I don't miss _you_!?" The words simply left her lips before she could stop them; but the crazy anger was slowly radiating inside her again. She felt completely thankful for it; she found it a million times easier to speak because of it. "Have you not learnt _shit_?" she asked quite loudly. "I just can't fucking forgive you! I can't..." A couple of betraying tears had started building in her eyes, and this time they spilt freely and quietly against her cheeks. At this, Tate's head continued shaking; he couldn't stand this. He couldn't look at the way Violet's tears fell slowly down her cheeks and toward her shaking chest, for he could remember that look; the look of anger and betrayal and disappointment as she continued speaking: It was the same look she had had the first time she had sent him away into the darkest void possible. "I feel _sick_ every time I think of how you raped my mother." Violet spoke again, pulling Tate away from his memories as fast as she had thrown him in them. "I feel sick _every time _I think of how she _died_ giving birth to the child that she got pregnant with because of it." Violet's words echoed in the room, making Tate hold his steps completely; barely three feet from her.

Tate wanted to take the few left steps toward her; take her face in his hands and repeatedly tell her how sorry he really was; but he didn't. The rough words that had left her lips had frozen him completely; he even realised how Violet was trying to back away from him, and that felt even worse than any of the other times she had told him to go away. _Of course she's backing away from me. _He thought as his nervous fingers adjusted the sleeves of his sweater; the one sweater Violet had once called her favourite. Even though his soul was a million times broken, he forced himself to speak calmly, in a low comforting tone; little did he know, Violet could look right through him. And seeing he hurt, hurt her more than she could ever admit. "You know; if I could take all that back, I would." Tate admitted. "I never meant to do anything to hurt you, Violet."

"I know."

The silence between both teens became unbearable for Violet, and such was the case that she realised she couldn't look at him anymore; not without wanting to... _What_? She wondered. _Kiss him? Kill him?_ She didn't know exactly what, but she knew very well that she couldn't do any of those things. So instead, her arms let go of the fresh metal to cross comfortingly across her chest; her back leaned completely against the bed frame, and her tears fell completely freely against her cheeks. She realised that there was nothing more she could do but cry; at least for a short, yet eternal moment before she dared look up at him once more to speak. It really took everything in her to speak the words she forced herself to say. "I wish you hadn't done all that either... I miss you, Tate." Yet another tear left her eyes in a swift journey down her cheeks. "But you can't change what you did. I can't forget it either. I can't stop feeling sick about it. I just..." She felt overwhelmed, she wished with all of her being that she could forget all of it; that it had never happened. "I just can't."

Tate had to remind himself to breathe even as he kept his eyes completely locked on his beloved the whole time she was speaking. The backs of his eyes were threatening to release a waterfall of tears that matched Violets, and his legs seemed to have this incredibly itch to move forward. He realised, then, that he couldn't ignore it, simply not after what she had just said. His feet moved; leading him closer to Violet and having him stop only when the tips of their shoes touched. Tate only wanted her to stop crying; no, he needed her to stop crying. And before he can stop them his cheeks find themselves hit with the warm sensation of his own tears, and he hesitated for a short moment, but both his arms lifted in a careful motion before he hooked them around Violet's shoulders; comfortingly he pulled her toward him, so lovingly resting his chin on top of her head. "I'm sorry." He whispered again against the very familiar sent of her shampoo.

That was the moment Violet realised the sweater Tate had been wearing, as she recognised the very familiar roughness of the material: it was her favourite sweater. That sole fact had her tears fall more freely against her already wet cheeks; the smell of him, the feeling of him, it all felt like home for her. It felt like everything she had been yearning for in the past four years of her solitude; everything she had wanted. And more importantly, everything she couldn't have.

In that moment, as her face so automatically hid on his shoulder, she realised just how easy it really would be for her to forgive him; yet all the easiness disappeared when she thought of everything he had done. At that, bile would rise in her throat; even as she felt completely safe and at home in the arms of the first and only boy she had ever felt she loved. _Goddamn it, Tate. _She thought again. That's what hurt more than anything; because she felt like she hated him, but she also felt like she couldn't stand not being around him. She realised as well, that the feeling of his arms around her felt completely right.

And that's why it had to stop.

One of her hands lifted, from the limp position she hadn't realised they'd taken, to rest against that familiar roughness of the material of his sweater. "I can't." She said, pushing that hand lightly against him. "I just... I can't" Tate's heart felt stepped on; and the only little hope he had gained went away as if it were the flame of a candle stuck outside on a windy winter evening. Violet's words had all been a whisper, but Tate felt like they'd been screamed. And her next words shattered every little part of his being. "Please..." Another whisper echoed in his head. "Please, don't make me say it." Violet had said.

Tate's arms dropped automatically at her rejection; not even caring as snot got on his sleeve as he ran it under his nose like a little five year old. He didn't care about anything but Violet; his eyes shut tightly as he felt the rest of his tears fall down his cheeks. All he could do was shake his head, knowing very well that he didn't want her to say it either. Those two words that would shatter everything that he was even further than any other blade could. _Go away! _He could still hear the echo of the many times Violet had told him those words during the past four years in the back of his mind like a torturous loop; and he knew, at that moment, that he couldn't take it again. His fear had him take a step back as his voice came out muffled and groggy; but Violet could hear him perfectly. "Violet, no."

"Please." Violet repeated; she didn't want to torture him anymore; she didn't want to forgive him either. The best thing she could do was have him go away on his own. She didn't want to say the words. "Please" She said once more. Tate stared at her; wishing and praying with all of his being that she would change her mind. But he knew she wouldn't.

He nearly lost it right in front of her; he nearly just broke down and begged her not to send him away. Yet, instead, he dragged his feet, walking backwards toward the closed door, and forced his limbs to work properly until he had opened the door and stepped right outside it. Not even realising he had slammed the door behind him until the sound made him flinch. He didn't care, though; he gave the door and his beloved his back, sliding down the cool wood until he was sitting on the floorboards with his knees up against his chest, his elbows rested against the top of his knees and his face hid in the empty space between his arms and the material of his sweater on his chest, allowing every little tear he had stopped himself from shedding to run completely free against his cheeks; ignoring, or not even hearing, the soft sound of a couple of moving steps somewhere near him.

The steps belonged to a very curious Melany Stonem. After her last words to Tate had been said, she had stopped walking behind the corner of the hallway that lead toward the stairs she should have taken. She had stayed there until the sound of the click of a closing door had sounded; then she had moved only a little closer until she didn't have to completely sacrifice her head in an exploding headache to listen in the minds of the two teens to listen to every word they said. She knew it was none of her business; but the curiosity had overwhelmed her as she made up the little excuse to make her think that maybe it was her business after all; the house was hers and she had to know everything that went on inside it, didn't she? Mel had been able to hear every thought, every word and see every movement inside their heads as she'd been standing there; but the moment she heard the hurried steps toward the door again she had moved as quietly as she could back to the sheltering corner that led to the stairs; where she could still hear the painful sobs of the guy she had met just today; she knew there were times when it was somewhat okay to eavesdrop. Times where it would be all just hilarious if anyone busted her; and she knew very well, as she heard the broken hearted sobs of Tate Langdon, that that wasn't one of those times. This was wrong, Mel knew. And she knew, as well, that she couldn't move now, for she would probably make a noise; if she did, Tate would certainly hear her, know she had heard it all, seen it all inside both their minds. But what was there to do? Leave, and blow her cover? Or stay and sooner or later be discovered anyway?

And exactly at that moment, while she wondered this, the doorbell rang loudly in an echoing motion around the house. _Damn it. _Mel thought as her head whipped along to look at the direction where the noise came from; with the very complicated feeling of that private moment between these two lovers with a broken destiny, she had completely forgotten about the pizza she had ordered a while ago. And now? Would she blow her cover _now_?

Inside the room, Violet had slid down to the floor at the side of her bed once the absence of Tate Langdon had left her room completely. She had flinched, just as he had once the door had slammed shut behind him, and she had sobbed, just as he had; letting all the tears she had held in in Tate's presence roam free. She sobbed harder than she had in a long time, feeling helpless, hopeless, and whishing everything was different. Wishing she could keep Tate close and wishing she didn't feel sick every time she even thought about Tate so impossibly close to her now dead mother. She wished for everything to change... But she knew very well in the deepest part of her heart, that things really never, never would.

**To Be Continued.**


	8. Chapter 8: Misery Business

Mel tried to move her feet quietly, yet quickly over to the staircase; knowing, as she moved, that Tate truly was more lost on himself to think too much of a pair of steps that sounded near him. Yet, guiltily, as she sprinted downstairs carefully toward the door, she called out: "Tate! I think the pizza is here!" She didn't know what else to say as she rushed off toward the door; she solely tried her hardest to ignore the high level of guilt that was running right through her even when he opened the door.

Upstairs, Tate Langdon had stood from the very warm and familiar place in front of Violet's door; the tips of his tired fingers ran underneath his eyes to wipe up the blubbering mess that he'd cried after the events that had taken place inside the door he forced himself to pry his eyes away from. Whatever had been left of hope for his beloved was gone; Violet Harmon's disgusted look had made sure of that, and now… well, now he needed to pretend he didn't care to get this half demon lady cleared completely out from any left out story in that goddamn house. When, in reality, all Tate wanted to do was hide in the shadows of the basement. Instead, he forced himself to walk away from that familiar door and toward the staircase that would lead him downstairs.

By the time he made it downstairs Mel had already paid for the pizzas and was balancing four different sized warm looking boxes with both hands while closing the door with her hip. Tate forced a smile upon his lips; trying to mimic the kind of relief he had had by talking to Mel before his talk with Violet. "Want some help?" He asked, approaching Mel slowly.

A sense of guilt invaded Mel once she looked over at the very red eyes of the very slowly moving figure of Tate Langdon; she knew, though, that she couldn't exactly let Tate know she'd heard or seen any of what had happened inside that girl's room. For all Tate knew, Mel had been downstairs all this time. "Sure; it's not that much, though."

Tate could see Mel's lips move; yet he didn't know or hear what she was saying. He couldn't hear a thing other than the emptiness of disappointment and the loud beating of what was supposed to be his heart beating loudly in his ears; and the truth was… he felt like there was this bottomless void in the middle of his chest that could never close up. This was many times worse to him than the very first time Violet had told him to leave her alone. He remembered, in that moment, about Mel awaiting his response, and he forced his lips to open to say something; but not one sound came out when he tried to utter a word. Yet, a few moments later one of his shoulders lifted in the smuggest of shrugs before he reached over to take the two small boxes and the brown paper bag from Mel's pile.

"Wonder if it freaks everyone out to come up here." Tate wondered as he walked slowly over to the kitchen; with a guilty Mel close behind him. Mel's brow rose curiously. "Nobody has lived here in a while. And you…" Tate said while placing the warm boxes on the kitchen counter, "look nothing like a girl who would want to live in a house nicknamed 'Murder House."

Mel walked cautiously toward the counter before she set the pizza boxes down herself and looked over at Tate once again; and even though she tried to hide the amount of guilt she felt at having heard everything that happened between the two teenagers, when she spoke, her tone betrayed her. She sounded different; cautious. Tate didn't miss any of it. "You really think so?" Mel'd asked. "I mean some of my favorite bands talk about murder and blood and guts." She said in an attempt to continue on with his charade of pretending nothing had happened at all.

Unfortunately, even in his half hearted state, Tate was able to hear that little hesitation in Mel's words; his head shook and the smallest version of an amused smile crossed the corners of his lips while he moved to sit on one of the stools to the kitchen island. His hands moved nearly on their own to open one of the two boxes filled with warm pizza to force himself to eat something; it really wasn't like he needed it, or even wanted it, but still. He needed to do something to try and fill the stupid void that had formed itself inside him; food seemed like the closest option. "You should work on that, you know." He said after a short moment and a little motion toward Mel with his pizza; then he took a bite of it while his eyes followed Mel; who sat on another stool right across from him. "I can smell the bullshit coming from your mouth a mile away."

"Yeah?" Mel continued to feel guilty; but this time, Tate's tone made her voice reach a defensive level when she spoke. "In that case you should work a tad more on trying to hide you're upset. I didn't wanna ask." This time, even Tate was left with a wondering surprise as Mel's eyes looked right at him as she opened the second box of pizza to get her own slice. Her questioning made Tate feel defensive, just like Mel had felt. Tate's eyes staid on Mel in an intense glare that nearly drilled a hole into her brain; and even though Mel was feeling awareness and readiness inside her, her features showed a complete calmness as she decided to not take her eyes away from him no matter what.

"Probably better you didn't." Tate murmured with a slump of his shoulders; suddenly he was even more uninterested about the pizza than he had been before. His arms lifted, as if on their own, to rest on the cool counter of the kitchen island. "If you knew the whole story you'd probably side with her anyways."

"You don't know that." Mel admitted while she stood up carefully from the high stool; her steps echoed along the kitchen as she made her way to the cabinet where Tate had so neatly placed the food utensils. "You don't know how I react to things." She explained as she closed the cabinet and made her way back to her stool with a couple of forks; once she sat down, her eyes stayed on Tate while she slid down one of the two forks toward him before calmly opening the white box with the pie. "I'm not exactly what you would call _normal_, remember?" Mel reminded him with a small warm smile.

Tate's arms uncrossed as his eyes stayed on the fork that rested on the counter; when he took it, he spoke. "She can't even look at me." He started, quite surprised himself that he even wanted to talk about this. "I'd hate me too, I guess. I just…" The curls on his forehead hid his eyes as his face lowered slightly to look at the fork in his hands. "I just can't say I'm sorry anymore." His fork poked around at the pie, yet Tate nearly hoped that Mel was pretending he wasn't actually talking, because the truth was that he didn't exactly know why he even was. That whole ordeal was between Violet and him. Tate knew quite well that Violet would probably flip if she knew he was talking about it to someone else. _Specially you, Mel. _He thought, finally looking up from that strange little pie to look at Mel directly; surprising himself when he realized he was nearly smiling.

Mel's eyes nearly rolled at the little thought Tate had sent her way; she knew that this only meant he knew she had been listening inside his head all this time; he wasn't wrong. "What does that mean, ghost boy?" She wondered with a little smile as she reached her hand for another slice of pizza. "'Specially not you'? Is it 'cause I'm a stranger?" She wondered; yet her lids blinked once when she realized she'd known Tate for about half a day… technically she wasn't a stranger anymore. "Ish..." She said with a mindless raise of her shoulders before going back to her brand new slice of pizza.

Tate nearly completely ignored her question as he realized Violet would simply be upset because he'd even told someone something that was between them both. _No one's business_, she'd say, and rightfully so. "What the hell does that mean 'ish'?" Tate knew Violet wouldn't even be upset simply because Mel was a girl; not would she be upset because Mel was a teen…? _Wait._

"Oh, it's just something I picked up in time." Mel admitted as she tried to not make the fact that she had gotten the answer she had been wanting right from his mind too evident. Her eyes lifted to look at Tate.

"How old are you?" Tate wondered out loud, mostly to himself as he realized no one in their right mind would sell this big house to someone who was less than 25 years old. He surprised himself by looking up right at Mel as he awaited for an answer that he didn't realize he wanted until that very moment.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Mel calmly confided as her eyes lowered slightly to look at the halfway eaten pizza in her hand; this was the last of the dominoes that could fall. And Tate was honestly about to kick it down; right now. While eating pizza.

"That's a joke, right?" He curiously set down his fork before, in a distracted manner, he picked up another slice of pizza from the box nearest him. It was this very moment that he realized just how long it had really been since he had truly tasted something. "I got shot in ninety four…" He admitted with the most curious of smiles crossing his lips. "So _technically_ I should be almost forty right now." He gave his pizza a bite. "Nothing you say will ever shock me." Mel looked up from her pizza with a raised brow; she was honestly surprised to even be considering this. She continued chewing as her eyes stayed fully posed on the curious Tate Langdon. "Try me." He continued, trying to convince her and seeing the clear hesitation in her eyes.

Mel's eyes remained unblinking right on Tate's, trying to decide whether this information was worth sharing or not. Yet, as she saw Tate's curiosity emanating from the depth of his dark eyes, she realized that maybe she could be the only little distraction this guy could have in the whole house; after all, she had been able to see before, in his mind, that no one in the house would talk to him; and she knew very well what that felt like. So if she could help in any way… _Why not?_ She wondered; and after swallowing and letting out the calmest of sighs, she set down the left out crust of her pizza, with her eyes following her actions, allowing her arms to lay calmly one on the other before finally speaking. "I was born October tenth…" She paused somewhat dramatically, allowing yet another sigh to leave her lips before she decided to nod and lift her clear blue optics to fully look into Tate's dark ones. "In 1808."

Tate stopped chewing his food.

**To Be Continued**


	9. Chapter 9: Hell's Bells

Mel remained unmoving, waiting as she did, for a reaction to what she had said to come out from a quite frozen Tate Langdon; a reaction that came maybe a couple of seconds too late. He had stopped to look at Mel fully from where he was sitting and waiting himself for Mel to tell him that she was just joking. _I'm kidding; I'm thirty-nine_, he thought she'd say; but that didn't happen. And just when he realized it wouldn't happen he set down his food with calm fingers, as one of his hands lifted to scratch the back of his neck; a weird little wince leaving his lips in a daze. "Oh, damn" His eyes set completely on her unmoving frame. "Really?"

Mel's sudden laughter echoed in the once silent room; but it didn't really last long once she decided to nod her head in an affirmative motion. "Yeah, really." She admitted. "Why the wince? It doesn't hurt to be two hundred and four years old, you know?" She really did want Tate to speak, but Tate found himself astounded, to his surprise, as he tried to process this fact. Mel, then, decided to fill the strange silence with more words. "I just stopped ageing when I turned seventeen." She nodded, reaching for her pizza again. "Or maybe twenty one; it's not like I could tell I'd stopped ageing until I was about fifty and still looked like a damn teenager."

Tate honestly wondered if Mel could be shitting him; yet he realized, quite surprised, that there was actually no reason for her to lie to him about anything like her age. So with his eyes lowering to pick up his pizza again, he nodded. "Alright. Anything else about you that's different?" He asked before raising his hand from its resting position on the counter to twirl his finger around a little while he spoke. "Other than the never ageing, the reading minds and the body snatching?" he finally raised his eyes to allow them to look at her; quite unable to wipe the curious and interested smile from his lips.

"Okay, one," Mel started, setting down her pizza, and lifting her index quite camly, "not really. I mean, sure, some stuff, but it's complicated." She nodded before reaching for a can of pop. Tate scoffed. "And two, I told you; it isn't body snatching." The sizzling sound of the can opening tooted against the walls of the room.

"Then what is it?" Tate curiously wondered; playing with his left over pizza crust.

Mel's eyes stopped quickly on Tate's curious form as she wondered if it even was a good idea to distract this guy she'd just technically met with information that could, if it went into the wrong hands, quite literally be the end of her. _He's a ghost. _She thought, remembering that he didn't know her or her past fully, and truly he couldn't tell this to anyone that could hurt her… Or at least that's what she hoped; finally, picking up her pizza once more, she spoke. "It's possessing." Tate's brow lifted as he chewed. He didn't even bother to swallow his food before he thought _What?_ Knowing quite well that Mel was probably listening in anyway. Mel looked up at him again. "I'm half demon. I can possess people." She nodded. "Leave my own body and take over another one. Full blooded demons can do it too; only, unlike me, they have to be humans first, die, go to hell, and spend probably ten to fifty human years there while being tortured and lured in different ways until they lose their humanity."

"That's fucked up." Tate admitted surprised. "Wait. You said _human_ years… Why?" His eyes were completely set on Mel even as they narrowed and he gave the last couple of bites what was left of his pizza.

"Time is different down there." She quickly admitted after giving her pop a large drink. "Fifty human years are probably about four hundred years in hell." A nod of her head made the cupboard behind Tate open, and a tea plate floated from it toward her while the door of the cupboard closed; once she took the plate with her fingers and set it in front of her, not realizing how impressed Tate was, she continued speaking. "Imagine being tortured in hell for hundreds of years, tell me you wouldn't do anything to try and stop it; even lose your humanity if offered." Her eyes finally lifted to look at Tate once again, even as a small, nearly invisible, smirk crossed her lips in the process.

Tate suddenly realized that he could recognize the look that suddenly crossed Mel's eyes; it was one of wonder of the dark. Automatically he sat up a little straighter on his chair; and he didn't really mean to smile, actually he tried not to, but he did. Shaking his head as he reached for one of the cans of pop on the counter, he forced a clear of his throat before speaking. "You're twisted." He said with a forbidden smile as yet another sizzling sound of soda echoed in the room; this time, Tate's.

Mel couldn't really stop the laughter that left her lips; and she was quite thankful Tate had spoken when he had and not a couple of seconds later, for she had been lifting her hand to her lips to drink from her soda. Just imagine what a mess would have resulted if she'd been drinking it. "Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment." She said with a careful smile before deciding to put down her drink. "I reckon you're just as twisted as me, Tatter Tots."

Tate couldn't really do much other than snort at the new nickname, but a small smile adorned his lips as the two words sounded somewhat harsh in Mel's resonant accent; yet he said nothing, simply shaking his head. The smile didn't last much, though; not as he looked down to the can of pop in his hands and his mind started going into the darkened midst of the many horrible things he'd done. His eyes, Mel noted, looked now completely lost; and his thoughts had images to matched them strongly. "You could say that." Tate finally said in a soft whisper that even Mel was surprised she heard.

"But you're not anymore." She said in the most comforting tone she could master; knowing, for what she could see in his mind, that all of those things hunted him daily, and there was only one reason for that guilt: Violet Harmon. "That's what matters." she finished speaking before she decided to nod her head.

Tate's dark optics lifted to look at Mel's almost thankfully after he heard her words; yet, eventually, he decided to take a long drink from his can of pop before opening his mouth once again. "And what about you?" He asked. "Are you done with all that too?"

Mel's eyes quickly lowered to look at the now empty box of greasy pizza on the counter; the question Tate had asked lolled inside her mind like a strange drunken man about to fall into an abyss. The truth was the she wondered that same question nearly every day; was she done? Truly done? "I think I am." She admitted, both to herself and to Tate out loud. Just before he lifted her eyes to plant them on Tate's once again. "I mean, I wouldn't hesitate in hurting someone if they tried to hurt me; but…" She hesitated for a short, nearly unnoticed second. "I don't think I'll be… you know… shanking people just for the fun of it."

"I know." Tate quickly said, before he could stop himself. He wanted to say more, and his eyes looked at Mel in a way where he could say _I get it _without truly saying the words; and in a way he did. Sure; he never had truly hurt anyone of the people he'd hurt for _fun_, per se, but he also hadn't fully hated it, or thought twice about it until… until _she_ had come into his life.

"Anyway..." Mel said after she realized that even if she decided to share every single weird little secret from her life, Tate never really could be distracted from the eminent subject of the beloved he'd just lost again. "This is a huge house," she continued, "And I only have to choose a room and make it my own before I fix a couple of other rooms." She announced before doing a weird little jump off of the stool she'd been sitting on. "I wanna get some of it done now, while there's still a tad bit of energy in me, but…" Suddenly, Mel's thoughts matched Tate's, who, even while listening to Mel speak, was thinking about what had just so shortly before happened in Violet's room. "If you don't feel like helping me anymore… It's okay."

"Why?" Tate wondered quite quickly before standing up from his own stool. "I mean, why wouldn't I feel like it?" Even though he knew Mel could read his mind, he liked to think he was somewhat good at hiding enough of it all to continue having this strange half-demon woman distracting him and stopping him from breaking down so fully like the wanted in the darkened basement.

Mel, though, wouldn't have any of it. Even as she thought of helping him, she realized, and knew very well, that no matter what she tried, what she told him, or what she made him do, it would not help him at all; and as she crossed her arms, she spoke true words, though very poorly trying to hide the fact that she had heard and seen everything that had happened in that room as well as if she'd been there herself. "Because when you came downstairs you looked like your soul had just been ripped out, that's why."

Instantly, Tate's teeth ground together as his jaw clenched in a truly pained way when the memories of the clear, wide, fresh wound that had just been ripped across his chest so invisibly came suddenly rushing into his mind. He swiftly turned around and away from Mel; not even worrying himself over the fact of whether Mel heard his next words or not; but quite sure that even if she couldn't, she'd hear them in his mind. "I did." He simply said before taking quick saddened strides away from the kitchen, knowing that Mel had been right; he didn't want to help anymore, he didn't want to do anything but hide away in that darkened place in the basement that had become so familiar to him. He didn't want anything to do with anyone now. He only wanted, if anything, to look at Violet's solitary bones and sulk around in his own misery. Just like he thought he deserved.

_**~~~~~~~ A couple of hours later into the night. ~~~~~~**__**  
**_

Zandra Barbara Pierce opened her eyes slowly to the sound of a strange beeping that she recognized all too well; and when she turned her head somewhat quickly, which made her already hurting neck hurt even more, she saw the nowhere near comforting, yet very incredibly familiar look of an I.V and a cardiac monitor right beside her. Her throat stung as if she had just been close to drowning, and her head hurt just as much as the time when she'd fallen off of that very high tree during break time in the asylum. _Where am I?_ She wondered; for even with the familiar sounds and the very familiar feeling of a hospital stretcher under her finger tips, she knew that this place was way too dark to be a hospital. The humidity of it made it hard to breathe, and it simply felt… wrong.

_Jeremy. _She quickly thought. Did her brother know she was gone? What had even happened? And as she tried to tiredly move, she also tried to remember. How had she ended up in this dark place?

She'd been walking along the somewhat empty streets in the fringe of downtown L.A. That even for a Wednesday night had been too incredibly silent. She was typing down a series of things on her phone to remember and do the very next day when she showed up to the bar where she worked. But suddenly her heels weren't the only ones echoing in the street.

"Excuse me!?" A heavily accented female voice had said from behind her, and she so foolishly and politely had turned around to see; the girl in front of her had been barely a teen, dark hair, bright blue eyes, slim and looking somewhat lost.

"Yeah?" Zandra had asked, lowering her phone to see what the teen wanted.

"I'm sorry to ask, but… something is not working up in my flat, can you please come help me?" The girl had so nervously asked.

Zandra's eyes switched from one side of the empty street to the other; her New Jersey costumes of being too fucking paranoid hitting up in full blast at this very moment. Yet she looked at the teen once again. "I'm sorry, I don't know if I could help."

"Please." The girl pleaded. "It won't take long; I promise."

"No." Zandra quickly said before taking a step away and looking down at her phone in a quick glance once again. "I'm sorry, I have to go." And she turned away; she'd only taken a couple of steps away from the girl when she heard a very light mutter behind her. Something that she could have sworn sounded like "You should've said yes." And before she knew it, the girl had somehow ended up in front of her; only her eyes were different. The eyes that she could have sworn had been blue before were now completely black; so inhumanly black that not even any whites had been there.

How long had it been since that weird little thing had happened? Zandra tiredly wondered as she somehow found the strength to sit up on the made up hospital stretcher. Had it even happened? Maybe her meds had started to make her see weird things again. Maybe she'd just been dreaming. But neither of those things explained just where she was or how long she'd been there; her head quickly whipped to the side, the ends of her red, wavy hair so softly hitting her cheeks as she did so, when a short ruffling sound came from the other side of the door that she hadn't realized had been there until just now. "Hello?" She called; her fear and anxiousness suddenly spiking just as the heartbeat sounds on the cardiac machine that seemed to mark her pulse.

The noise came again, and Zandra stood from the bed; nearly tumbling down to the ground when she realized she still needed strength. But she didn't fall; adrenaline had suddenly started pumping through her veins as her hands clumsily pulled at the needle that had been so neatly put inside her arm. "Who's there?" She whispered; unable to speak any louder than what she already thought was a loud enough whisper. Once the machine wasn't connected to her anymore, the continuous echo of the flat-line bounced on the walls of the small room; but Zandra ignored it as she moved her feet slowly until her hand was able to stretch enough to rest on the cool doorknob of that shattered and old looking door.

The click of the opening door sounded a little too loud to Zandra's ears, and even as she slowly pocked her face out of the room to look outside into the not very surprising darkness that nearly copied the one in the room she'd woken up in, she decided to foolishly call out again: "Hello?" The door ominously creaked as she opened it so slowly; sending true chills that made the hairs on Zandra's body stand on end automatically. Yet, she finally stepped outside of the room; sure, even for a small moment that it might just be her in that strange place. But then another rustling sound came from somewhere near her, and even in her tired and painful state of dazedness of having just woken up, she turned around quickly. "Okay, who the fuck is there?" She asked; but unfortunately she wasn't able to fully finish her sentence before her worlds were fully replaced by a very loud and deadly scream.

From the shadows, the shriveled look of a medium-sized white gown dressed boy, with wrinkly features, bloody face and child-like movements came running right at Zandra. The last thing she heard were her own screams echoing over the noise of the eminent flat-line inside the room, before everything around her went black.

**To Be Continued. **


	10. Chapter 10: Who Could It Be Now?

_**~June 20**__**th**__** 2016~**_

The big Victorian house was finally fully set and livable, and the few days that Mel had spent living in it had been so calm and quiet that she even started to think that the encounter she had had with the ghost of Tate Langdon had been solely a dream; or maybe even a weird subconscious thing that meant to scare her off from the house. Yet, every time her brain so wildly came to think of that, the same kind of headache she'd had around Tate would start; that was usually around the time that Mel would actually realize that none of it had been a dream. It was true; her house was the perfect description of a retreat for the paranormal.

Even as Mel sat down so peacefully in her kitchen with a delicious bowl of cereal resting in front of her, that morning, she could feel the ignorable pounding of a headache against her temple; it was so light that she could even think of what she needed to do for the house; like going grocery shopping, or even thinking about the many different ways that she could hopefully avoid the war that Tate had so fully said would be set upon her to try and be scared away by the ghosts. _Maybe I can buy things for them._ She pondered, leading the shiny spoon full of crunchy cereal up to her mouth. She could put up a chalkboard somewhere in the house to have them write down what they wanted her to buy and she'd make sure that she made it everyone's house and not only hers; after all, Tate had said that everyone who resided in the shadowy mansion thought the rights to the place, were theirs. And, even though the papers clearly named the house fully to Mel, she was open to sharing it with a few tormented ghosts; it only seemed fair to be nice to these people she hadn't harmed in the name of all those that she actually had. _Mental note: Thank Tate for all the advice about the house. _Either way; Mel wanted to truly _live_ in the huge Victorian place, not die like all the last previous owners had.

She'd done her research; even after the lengthy talk she had had with Tate, she remained completely curious about every word he had said. So as curiosity remained, she searched. Montgomery, Langdon, Warwick and Harmon; those were all the names of the families that had died here. Owners, people that had once owned the place; she truly didn't want to end up like them. Mel found it a sad reality that the house was full of death, especially because she felt right at home in it. _How fucked up is that?_ She wondered; right before a sudden wave of a not-as-ignorable headache started pounding like rocks against her head so suddenly, accompanied by the wary voice of a curious woman. The pain was too much, and as a groan left her lips and the spoon clattered against the bowl of cereal so loudly that Mel wouldn't have been surprised if any of the bowl's contents had splashed to the counter, she lifted both her hands to press them as tightly against her temples as she could. "Oh, bloody fuck!" She heard herself saying before she could even stop herself from it. "You little ghosts of hell!" Mel didn't really care who the ghost was, yet she could tell by the voice whose thoughts had so painfully reached her, that she hadn't met her. Though, the truth was that she hadn't met anyone other than Tate Langdon in that huge supposedly haunted house. "Who _are_ you?" Mel called continuing her annoyed manner as she turned to look toward the direction where she could hear that curious voice ringing. "I know you're there; and if I were you, I'd show myself."

The woman, an average looking girl with dark red hair felt her senses perking up as the wondering question of _How did she know I was here?_ Stumbled inside her brain; so incredibly hearable to Mel, who was still looking toward the empty space where, after a few seconds of considering, the redheaded woman appeared; her eyes were astounded, yet curious, even as she spoke. "The name… It's Hayden. Hayden McClaine."

Mel's eyes remained posed on Hayden's still form as she pushed her bowl of cereal away from her. "Right." Mel noted. "Hayden. Hi, I'm Mel; new house owner." She said feeling quite silly at having chosen those words to speak, and even more silly when she stretched out a hand toward Hayden to shake. _What am I doing? _Mel wondered as a small frown appeared on her forehead.

Clearly, as she tilted her head to the side, it was quite evident that Hayden was also wondering what this British girl was doing. Nonetheless, she took a couple of steps closer to Mel with a polite grin crossing her lips. "New owner, huh?" Hayden questioned as her steps took her past Mel's hand and toward her now somewhat soggy bowl of cereal; Hayden's thumb quickly swapped into the bowl to take and pop a piece of flavored crunchy substance into her mouth. "Been here long?"

Mel's brow raised slightly as the boldness of this new ghost became astoundingly evident; yet her hand dropped and her head bobbed in a nod while keeping her eyes fully posed on the hand that had just stolen from her plate. "Sort of." Mel replied. "Or… no; not really. Only a week or so, it's not that long, yeah?" She reached for her spoon again. _So far so weird_, she thought before asking, "You been here long, Hayden?"

Without waiting for an invite, Hayden sat in a swift motion on the stool right beside Mel's, being quite quick at stealing yet another bite from the soggy cereal. "It's been four years since this place and I have seen each other naked." Hayden quickly admitted with a light smirk on her lips.

"Blimey." Mel said with a somewhat curious smile. "Sounds like a long time to be trapped in a house."

"How'd you know I can't leave?" Hayden wondered as she took another bite from Mel's bowl.

"Because you're a ghost; if you could leave I truly doubt you would choose to stay in this place—do you want some?" Mel somewhat annoyingly wondered as she reached her hand to pull the bowl of cereal that Hayden had thought was okay to eat from, away from the hand that had just stretched again.

Hayden's amused chuckle echoed along the kitchen walls as her head shook, placing her now useless hand on her lap. "Nope." She said with a little grin. "I just wanted to steal what doesn't belong to me." A pause created a little silence between them, but as Hayden thought of what had just happened, she realized she had been meaning to ask her one little thing… "How did you know I was there?" Her eyes lifted to look at Mel curiously. "How do you know about the ghosts?"

Just like the time she had talked to Tate, the prominent headache was starting to lower down in intensity; making it many times easier to pay attention to what the redheaded woman was saying, and even thinking. So, of course the full extent of her new questions was a little worrying; one thing was sharing secrets with someone who'd already seen something that proved what she was, and a very different one was to tell this complete stranger everything she'd told Tate without her having seen her in her darkest moments. So she ignored Hayden's first question. "The only reason I knew you were dead was because of a talk I had with a young lad." Mel confided as she lifted whatever was left of the soggy substance in the bowl and drank it as quickly as she could. _Ugh. _She hated soggy cereal. "Tate, I think his name was?" Hayden's brows rose.

"You met Rambo already?" She asked with a tilting head. "I think he's under the impression that he's the un-dead realtor of this property."

"Does he?" Mel calmly stood from the stool she'd been sitting on the walk over to the sink. "I mean, he _was_ the first one to come say hi." And as she set the dirty bowl on the sink, she remembered the few little things she'd been thinking about before the apocalyptic headache had interrupted her. "See, it's actually ace I get to talk to another ghost." Mel admitted as she opened the water tab. "I had an idea that could work to try and keep peace in the house."

Hayden's nails ran along the cool marble top of the counter, looking at Mel with slightly more interest than before, along with a knowing look. "Wait till you meet Princess Harmon and her mommy." She stated. "I doubt your peace theory will apply to them."

That's when the memories of what had happed between Tate and the girl inside the room came rushing into Mel's head; and she automatically felt bad for even knowing what had happened. "Harmon?" She asked. "You don't mean… uh…" Of course, as Mel washed the bowl and tried to push away the sad scene, Hayden wondered just how much the Langdon kid had told Mel. "Violet…? Is that it?" Mel cleared her throat before turning slightly to look at Hayden. "I think Tate mentioned her." _Understatement. _Mel thought with a silent sigh.

"Yup." Hayden admitted with a risen brow. "Also known as, or as I like to refer to her as, Nightingale flower, Miss Innocent, Itty Bitty Vivien, Tate's owner; The list goes on and on since I have an eternity to make it." Mel couldn't stop the short laugher and the following smile that left her lips as she finished washing the bowl. "So what exactly did Psychotic Latex Obsessed Teen Tragedy tell you about that 'situation'?" Hayden wondered with a smile and lifting hands that made little air quotes.

Mel, of course, had started wondering if Hayden would ever try to give her a nickname; she seemed to do so to everyone, but hey, if that was her entertainment, then so be it. _Will she ever call me 'black eyed bitch'? _Mel wondered with an ironic smile as she thought about the side of her that Hayden obviously didn't know. "Oh, not much." The thing was that Mel didn't know exactly how much she was supposed to know. "Just the basics of why he was stuck here and how he—loved Violet a lot." Her eyes went a little wide as she walked over to a cupboard to place the bowl in its place, wondering if Hayden, behind her, had noticed the little pause she'd made. Mel had been about to say "how he blamed himself about everything that had happened to Violet." But that was obviously not her story to tell or to know. And she figured; if he'd trusted her enough with it, she would not ever even come close to talking about it with anyone else other than Tate himself.

Hayden's look deepened and changed from soft and comedic to a more hardened, focused feature as she attempted to try and pin down what Mel could be thinking about in her many silent moments. "That's all?" She blinked a couple of times keeping her eyes on Mel's back. "I always wondered why Rambo's gracious body never had bullet holes in it." Hayden admitted as her head tilted once more. "Then again, those Goodwill Grandpa sweaters… but hey…" She sloppily lifted a hand to tap a fingernail to her temple. "I lack my own shovel-induced death scar." She shrugged.

"Shovel?" Mel finally walked over to the kitchen island to sit on a stool across from Hayden as she realized that the opinion this woman had of the few ghosts she'd mentioned gave Mel a small sense of why Tate had so dramatically told her war could be ensued in this enormous place.

"Mmhmm." Hayden murmured. "A shovel; a fedora wearing fucker came outta nowhere. Killed me and my…" she stopped talking, but Mel could see the memory clear in her head: the moment the pregnancy test came positive, remembering the face of a smiling man; one that came with the feeling of being… Violet's father. _Ben fucking Harmon. _Hayden was thinking; her hands balling slightly into fists.

"Oh." Of course Mel didn't want to explain the way she knew about the baby, or about who the father was; especially since Tate hadn't even told her any of it. Of course, it hadn't been his story to tell, but it was still a grand deal. So instead of asking about the baby, that she had to pretend not to know about, she asked about the killer. "Do you know what happened to the fedora wearing tosser?"

Watching the stranger's reactions to her story, both surprised Hayden and didn't; the truth was that if this woman had actually talked to Tate, she expected that he would've used his way with words to get this girl to hate her just as much as nearly everyone else in the house did. Yet, Mel was still there, talking to her; so it seemed, for the moment, she was safe from any kind of hate from anyone. _For now_. "Far as I know, he's in the big house." Hayden finally admitted as she tried looking into Mel's eyes. "He confessed to something, apparently." And then a wave of light amused laughter left her lips as she flipped up her fingers to make little air quotes once again. "He had a get your groove on kinda thing for Tate's dear old Momma."

And as Mel realized that this woman had decided to give in to Mel's conversation, she realized that she had gotten on the good side of this Hayden girl. So she continued on; thinking that maybe things could not be so hard in this house.

She had hoped for that way too soon.

**To Be Continued.**


	11. Chapter 11: Welcome To The Jungle

"Constance kinda reminds me of a Jehovah's Witness; with bad fashion sense and a taste to steal from the offering plate." Hayden McClaine admitted as she sat calmly on the kitchen stool, her arm rested thoughtlessly on the marble counter of the kitchen island as her eyes remained on Mel; who had been so entertained by Hayden's stories that she barely realized that a couple of hours had passed with them sat like that in the kitchen. Still, she paid close attention. "This house is like her… temple." Hayden continued, enjoying fully that she had someone to talk to, to drop all her ideas on, and who clearly didn't hate her at all.

Mel, though, felt a frown cross her forehead as she heard what Hayden was saying, and very much more when she saw what she was thinking. She worried, because she knew that nosy neighbors, being what she was, were never a good thing to have around. "Oh, no." She murmured as she saw the very vivid images and thoughts that crossed Hayden's mind: Constance's children… Tate. "You don't mean she's going to come here every time she can, do you?" The light laughter that left Hayden's lips surprised Mel so much that she felt her brows rising.

The thing was, though, that Hayden simply felt amused as Mel experienced the typical reaction that she liked to refer to as "The Constance Langdon Nausea Wave"; something that literally everyone felt once Constance's name was mentioned. To which Mel smiled. "She might." Hayden confided once she stopped laughing. "I mean, she hasn't been around too much since she's trying to earn the mother of the year award by raising Tate and Vivien's son; but then again, she seems obsessed with trying to get Tate to forgive her old ass." Her eyes rolled. "I say he should kill her, but then again who wants to be stuck in here with her? Fuck no."

Mel's hand lifted slightly to scratch at the back of her neck while her mouth twisted a little to the side. It seemed like she would have to deal with a nosy neighbor in some different way than killing her; which usually was her solution. Worked rather well, but of course, it wouldn't be the same in a house where every ghost seemed to get stuck in after death. "Are you all really stuck here forever? I mean is there really no way out?"

"Yup, forever." Hayden shook her head, making her redhead locks grace her cheeks. "Sucks. But there's _one _day during the year that we can actually leave: Halloween. Every year; but that's about it." Mel's brows rose again and a light smile appeared across her lips. Hayden nodded. "Ironic; I know."

"Very." Mel laughed wholeheartedly.

And they didn't know it, but very close to both girls, in the basement, Tate Langdon had had enough of passing on days of drowning in his own self pity; and in a swift and angry move the front two legs of the chair he'd been leaning back in hit the ground. His fingernails were chewed nearly to the core, and as he stood from the old chair he dusted himself off; feeling the fabric of the sweater Violet had once told him she loved so much. Tate's shifty fingers fiddled with the hem of said sweater for all of two long seconds, before he angrily pulled it over his head before tossing it onto the floor; and sure, his shirt needed adjusting, but as he saw it, it was better than having anything on him that instantly reminded him of Violet. And he felt lighter; like he almost didn't give a fuck. But he was also quite aware that he had felt what he was now many times before; the in-between times where he decided to make it Violet's fault that their relationship had faltered. He knew it wasn't, but it made him feel again; angry, sure, but it was still a feeling, and he was not about to decline any kind of emotion that wasn't sadness at that moment. So, hearing Mel and Hayden's voices clearly tooting from the kitchen to where he was, he decided that it was time to get the fuck out of there. "Totally; it sounds like it." Tate heard Mel saying as he climbed the stairs and opened the door of the basement. "You got any advice for me, though? To stay alive in this blooming house, I mean?" He decided to slam the door behind him, to make himself be known to be roaming around before he walked over to the kitchen.

"Just don't…" Hayden had started speaking, but finally Tate rounded the corner to the kitchen while avoiding any kind of eye contact with her; instead he waved meaninglessly at Mel as he moved around the island to lean against the counter opposite side of both girls. Mel waved back as Tate interrupted Hayden. "I see you've met the house whore." He pointed out. Mel's eyes automatically widened as he turned to look at Hayden for a short moment. "Hope you're being nice."

Hayden's words got caught in the bile accumulating in her throat once she heard and saw Tate; yet she didn't bother to give him any kind of glance; instead, her eyes remained on Mel, as if looking at her would make Tate and his hate to go away. "Coming from a whore himself." Hayden reciprocated without being able to stop herself. "Geeze, Rambo, Get a new catchphrase." Mel's smile automatically disappeared as she looked from Hayden to Tate and back; she remained quiet, quite literally at a loss of words as she saw the hostility between both ghosts. Of course, the headache that had started with two ghosts in the same room was nearly unbearable, which made her want to stay away from both their minds, so she simply sat there; quiet.

"Don't need one." Tate chanted. "That one will always fit you perfectly." He then continued by crossing both his arms across his chest and raising his eyebrows at Hayden. "What made you crawl out of your hole, hm?" He spitefully wondered.

"Whatever reason made you stop crying rivers in the basement and giving Justin Timberlake more shit to write about." Hayden counteracted with a high octane smirk.

Tate forcefully laughed; letting a little bit of anger and annoyance to echo from it before he decided to look at a quiet Mel. "Don't let that pretty petty princess smile fool you, Mel." Her brows rose. "She'll stab you in the back. Literally." _So, war. _Mel thought as she looked from Tate to Hayden, whose head had lowered a little and eyes had rolled. _This is what you meant by war, ghost boy. _She sighed.

"Either shit, or get off the pot, Langdon." Hayden exclaimed. "I'd recommend therapy, but…" Trailing off, she ran her tongue against her teeth in a somewhat failed effort to get across that she was bored by the stupid insults. Tate scoffed. "So, Tate." Hayden started as Mel lowered her head, wondering just what could follow up to all this banter. "You met Mel already, huh?"

At that moment, Tate leaned forward while twisting the ring around his thumb for a second before simply nodding as his eyes shifted to a very left out Mel, who at that moment raised her eyes to look at him; which made him look away. "Yeah." He admitted. "A few days ago. So far she's not running out of here screaming." He stated quickly before looking at Mel again and forcing himself to grin at her. _It's not her fault. _He reminded himself, repeating it over and over until it was clear to him that he had no reason to be angry at her.

Mel only nodded; speaking, when she did, to no one in particular. "I'm not planning on running away anytime soon; or ever, really." She shrugged.

"Has Violet seen her?" Hayden's very curious voice continued as if she hadn't even heard what Mel had just said.

Tate stopped looking at Mel immediately and felt his expression harden. His throat cleared, and he decided to look away from both women. "No." He quickly stated before leaning away from the counter. "Well, I don't know; Violet's too bust fucking with my head to notice anything else."

Both Hayden's and Mel's brows rose as if coordinated at Tate's sudden reaction; yet Hayden wasn't surprised. This was always the way the Langdon boy, as she liked to call him, reacted whenever the name of his lady in distress' name was mentioned. "If Violet is as smart as I think she is, she's seen Mel at least once."

_Why? _Tate thought. _Why the fuck do you have to bring her up?_ To which Mel sighed and shook her head, deciding to keep her eyes on Hayden. Yet, Tate refused to stick around and get caught up on any more games involving the mention of Violet's name. As angrily as possible, he shot one last glare at Hayden before kicking at a leg of the one stool that rested in front of him. "Violet could use someone to talk to anyways." He quickly fumed before shrugging off the thought of Mel and Violet actually communicating, and moved along quite swiftly to exit the room with his shoulders in somewhat of a slump; he realized, as he walked over and away from the kitchen, that he was too pissed off at Hayden to use her as a distraction. He disappeared quickly into the back garden.

Both Mel and Hayden remained where they were, staring at the place Tate had retreated away from incredulously. Mel's lips twisted to the side before looking down at her hands. She was clearly out of words, and all Hayden could do about it was grit her teeth and twist her body back around to face Mel. She sighed. "Welcome to Murder House." Hayden quickly announced.

A short breath left Mel's lips as she nodded her head, letting her hair fall into some kind of curtain to her eyes, yet it was only for a moment before she lifted her hand to place a bit of hair behind her ear. "I'm still going to try to keep enough peace to stay alive." Mel stated before she looked at Hayden again. "I love this house." She couldn't let the only place that reminded her of her first home go. She just couldn't.

Hayden's face twitched slightly before her head lowered and a frown crossed eminent wrinkling her forehead. There was one thing she needed to get across. And this was certainly the moment to do so. "Look, Mel." She started. "Despite what Tate or anyone else here says, I'm not a whore." She looked up at Mel again, who was looking at her with the most patient and liquid eyes Hayden had ever seen. "I just… fell in love and now I'm paying the horrible price for it." The fingers in Hayden's once calm hand lifted to grip tightly at her throat as if trying to outwardly push the escaping emotions down. "And you don't need to worry about me coming after you. I don't hurt people that don't hurt me."

Mel quickly felt a little bad for the tormented ghost that Hayden appeared to be. She figured that even without this house to curse her, she'd been a ghost trapped in limbo because of all the weight of her past pushing at her back. "Don't worry, Hay." Mel tried the short version of Hayden's name, trying to lift the mood of the conversation by making a calm and somewhat comforting smile cross her lips. "If people don't do anything to me, then I won't do anything to them; I guess you and I are alike that way."

Hayden's lips quickly lifted in her own twisted version of a thankful smile; it seemed there was one person in Murder House, if not the only one, that she thought she could stand. "We'll keep on each other's good side, then." She quickly stated, nodding her head in a thankful motion toward the new, seemingly very open minded owner.

Mel's arms crossed calmly across her chest as Hayden spoke. "Cheers." Mel thanked as her once bursting head opened up to Hayden's thoughts of thankfulness once again. "I like talking to you. So far the two ghosts I've met are quite nice to me." Hayden nodded in a slightly happy way as she looked at Mel. The idea of someone actually liking her ringing in her head as weird, but completely accepting it; before she could speak, though, Mel continued on. "Would you be interested in listening out to my peace keeping idea when it comes to the ghosts?" Mel curiously asked. "I reckon I could use the advice."

_Not only does she like me, but she asks for my advice. _Hayden thought. _I really like this girl. _Mel smiled a little wider, and Hayden noticed. So she simply nodded in a somewhat curious way as she set both her hands on the counter in a slapping motion. "Sure." She quickly said before forcing her smile onto a look toward Mel. "Lay it on me." And Mel did; explaining to her that little wild idea she had had about the chalkboard in the kitchen and the buying stuff for the ghosts to make this house for absolutely everyone.

**To Be Continued.**


	12. Chapter 12: The Parent Trap

_**~June 22**__**nd**__** 2016~**_

When Tate Langdon finally looked up from his feet after walking so carelessly around the house he realized he'd ended up outside; the air was humid, heavy with the heat of Los Angeles, not even a small breeze dared to ruffle Tate's blonde locks. He sighed as he pulled himself up onto the orange brick wall to settle himself against the archway where many times a long time ago he had shared days such as this with the one girl he had dared to love: Violet. There he was again, thinking of that which he wished he didn't dare think of. He tried distracting himself. As he looked around his eyes caught a window in the big Victorian house, and inside he could see Viviven and Violet Harmon speaking; Violet's eyes lit up with the happiness that her smile showed, and that alone made Tate's stomach instantly turn inside out. There had been a moment some years ago that the smile that brightened up Violet had been directed at him. He couldn't keep looking... his heart was breaking in a tiny million pieces once again.

It was at that moment, when he looked down to the orange brick in between his legs, that he saw the half smoked cigarette hiding in between two bricks; his fingers curiously plucked it out carefully before rolling it between his fingers. "Such a shitty habit, Vi." He heard himself mumbling to the air; and as he threw the little cigarette away into the bushes nearest him he felt his shoulders slam against the brick of the arch behind him, and he looked up to the sky, shielding his eyes with his palms to try and get the best view of the cloudless sky. _Nothing but blue skies for miles and miles, _he thought with a long deep sigh, nothing like what he felt; he felt wrong in that place. He groaned, _damn it_ the only place he felt right in was the basement. His eyes traveled along toward that window again, and he decided to give the two Harmon women a last glance; he didn't like the way the heat felt against his skin, and he didn't like the way he felt like he was having a solo pity party sitting there watching Violet smile like nothing was wrong in the world while she talked to her mother; so he swung his legs off the wall and jumped down, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way back inside, felling another long sigh leave his lips while hearing the click of the lock of the door closing. Boredom and loneliness seemed to have had combined themselves into one complete package for Tate Langdon lately, and he wasn't even surprised with himself when his feet so quickly led him to the more than boring and lonely basement in the house.

From the shadows in the basement he peaked around, looking as Tate so miserably stepped down from the wooden stairs; he kept silent, watching behind a door, his cheek pressed against the wooden rim of the door as he watched silently as Tate walked deeper into the darkened basement, yet when he stepped back to try to get a better look, his converse shoes squealing slightly as he did, knocked the glass of water that he'd been sipping on, making it shatter. His unnecessary breath got held inside him as he tried to make absolutely no more noise.

Tate's head whipped to the side as he heard the noisy shatter of the glass, and his eyes rolled annoyed as his brain automatically connected to the possibility of the intruder being Hayden. "Leave me alone, will you?" Tate said annoyingly before turning away to keep walking.

From the shadows, he let the breath leave his lips, and his head tilted to the side, considering, even if he tried not to, to just let Tate be and not talk. Yet his curiosity beat at him like drums in a heavy metal song; so he stepped out of the shadows, taking a few steps into whatever little light illuminated the basement, to be seen completely, his eyes running from the tip of Tate's head to his converse shoes, the familiarity, and similarity made him smirk. "Aw, come on." He said jokingly, the tone of his voice mirroring Tate's. "We haven't even met yet; what fun would that be?"

Tate was ready to reply with the snarkiest response to whomever had just spoken, but even before he turned around to look, he felt something was weirdly strange; the voice, it was much like his own, and when he turned around surprise struck him, surprise, and confusion and strangeness as he looked at the newcomer's raged clothes, and, if it wasn't for the brown colour of his curls, Tate would have thought he was looking in a mirror. "What the fuck...?!" No; his head had to be playing games on him, he knew he was crazy, but this was beyond words. He was looking at himself study him from head to toe... _I'm fucking loosing it now, aren't I?_ He thought.

"Well, goddamn." The guy across him said, "I always thought we were fraternal, but it looks like we're fucking identical." Suddenly he moved his index alongside the edge of the ring on his thumb, much the same as Tate's. "I think I've got a few inches on you, though." And as he spoke Tate didn't know what else to do other than stare. The similarities between both teens were wild; same shoes, same stance, same slouch; only unlike the guy that had come from the shadows, Tate's curls were blonde, yet still nearly covering the exact same dark eyes. The guy smirked.

"Inches?" Tate asked incredulously unable to come up with something more cleaver to say. His eyes squinted at the guy in front of him for a moment before he shook his head; both his hands balled into fists and they lifted to rub against his eyes. "Who are you?" Tate questioned, straightening up, somewhat out of curiosity but still feeling quite defensive. What was going on?

"No need to freak out; my name is Tyler." The guy said with a little smirk crossing his lips, yet out of nowhere his hands raised as if to hold Tate back were he to throw himself at him. "Wait, you're not gonna come after me with some sort of weapon, right?" Tyler jokingly wondered as the smirk widened slightly. "I heard you did that as a defense mechanism." He took yet another step toward Tate, whose brow had risen in a bewildered expression.

Yet he allowed himself to chuckle, if only momentarily before he let his eyes lift to Tyler's very familiar eyes; they truly were his own. Tate, of course, wondered if just because he looked exactly like him it meant that Tyler would react the same way he did to everything. So in somewhat of a defeated stance he lifted his hands, if only to prove that they were empty of any weapons. "No; but don't tempt me." He said shifting only to move against the brick wall of the basement.

Tyler's brow rose and his hands lifted with a defeated motion nearly laughing. "Don't tempt you to harm the shit out of someone that looks exactly like you, so much it makes you think you should've died in a mental ward and not here?" He shrugged and let his arms tuck into one another until they are in a tight cross against his chest. "You can't hurt me, anyway." He admitted.

A very hollow 'pfft' noise escaped Tate's lips at the same time that he leaned against the wall; he lifted one of his feet and pressed the back of his converse shoe against the wall as well. He mimicked Tyler's actions to cross his arms against his chest. "Psych ward death and this place...?" He asked. "Might as well be the same. I'm fucking staring at myself; I think I'm already kind of nuts."

"You're a bigger smartass than I expected." Tyler voiced as he let his head tilt to the side in a more turning observation. "I thought nutcases and psychos were more reserved with their tone." He had to chuckle; he simply found no possible way for the sound to stay behind his lips. "This place doesn't seem so bad Have you seen all of the ladies?" Cupping his hands together, he smirked; his hands rubbing together in a playful motion before he rolled the thumb ring that mirrored Tate's; he'd been watching Tate for a long, long time, and his next words left careful and stinging from his lips. "Specially that... Violet girl..." Tate's foot automatically hit the floor in a loud stomp as the name of the girl he loved so dearly left this guy's lips so vulgarly; his eyes lighting with an angering glare that he had no control over. Tyler simply smirked once the reaction that he had been searching for came out of Tate. "You know if she's single?" Tyler mocked, not really caring about the answer but worrying more about the reaction that Tate was so willingly giving.

"Violet is mine." He quickly said as his arms dropped to his sides and he took a step close to Tyler. _Liar_ he thought. _Violet doesn't belong to anyone. _Tate knew this; but the muscles in his body tensed up when he thought about her being anywhere this Tate wannabe. Not that she'd let him anyway…_ He looks just like me.._. He tried to remain calm; to breathe, _you told Violet you'd changed_ he thought to himself, yet he realised in his gut that those words were the farthest from the truth than he could get.

Tyler's head tilted up in a defiant sneer across his mouth; his knuckles cracked at the contact from his other hand before he balled them to his sides. He realised that he had gotten exactly the kind of reaction he'd been expecting; yet he continued watching, tasting the waters in Tate's oceans; just how much could he take? "Oh, yeah?" He asked. "Is your name tattooed on her ass?"

Even in the angry state Tate was in, the tiredness and the sadness beat at him, yet even as he considered ignoring the look-a-like guy in front of him, he knew that it would eat away at him to leave an attack on Violet unresolved. So he kept track of Tyler's hands at all times; even as their knuckles cracked, yet as he did, his eyes fixed on the thumb ring that he carried, much like his own. And in that moment, his teeth grinded in confusion; _what the fuck? _

Tyler's eyes followed Tate's as he looked at him, and at the moment he realised that he was looking at his ring another wild smirk crossed his lips. His hand lifted in a turning motion as if to show Tate the extent of his ring just before the words left his lips. "Yeah, you have one of these too, am I right?"

In a half confused state, once again, Tate's arms unfolded to hold out his right hand, and he lifted it in a slow motion at eye level between both of them, showing the shiny old snake-like ring that rested on his thumb. Once Tyler smirked once more Tate dropped his arm, resting it comfortably back across his chest. Tate's brow furrowed, and his brain rushed in search of an explanation: was he loosing it? Was he seeing his conscience clearly displayed like this as if it were a cheap script in a si-fi movie? "Are you fucking with me?" He voiced his thoughts out loud.

"Not one bit." The clear glint showed up in Tyler's eyes when the clear realisation crossed Tate's, yet he shook his head; his brown curls gracing his forehead as he did so, knowing very well that something was turning in Tate's head and wanting so much to stomp him out of his confusion; yet he humoured Tate; Tyler was truly enjoying the suspense.

"Care to explain exactly who the fuck _you _are, then?" Tate harshly questioned as he took a few steps back again, until his back hit the wall once more.

"You're smart, aren't you?" Tyler's voice sounded amused if anything as he took a few steps forward; for he truly wanted to not miss any second of Tate's reactions. "Take a shot in the dark at my identity."

Tate hated games; especially if he wasn't the one laying out the rules. But he was tired, and he wanted all this weirdness to leave him, so with a clear of his throat, and after wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, he allowed the wheels in his head to turn and turn, until the only explanation left his lips. "I'm either going crazy and you're my conscience," he started, "or... since the only way you and I happen to be sporting the same chromosomes is if the lunatic who lives next door birthed your ass too..." Tate's eyes found Tyler again. "I'm gonna go all in on the last choice." Yet his eyes quickly left Tyler again as he allowed tiredness to take over him as his back slid down the wall right until the point where he was sitting right on the cold floor.

"Very well deduced, Sherlock!" Tyler's voice echoed along the nearly empty basement; he mocked Tate as he followed him with his eyes, yet he forced himself to tilt his head slightly before he continued on talking. "This lunatic you speak of... Constance Langdon, right?"

Tate nodded once, "Who else?" He asked, still not looking up as his dead heart nearly beat out of his chest. Tyler felt a chuckle leave his lips, and he nodded. But then, he forced himself to kneel in front of Tate, his head tilted to try and find his eyes completely, and if only, to see the reaction coming from them. He decided to finally speak...

"I think you've got yourself a twin brother, Tate Langdon." Tyler smirked.

**To Be Continued**


	13. Chapter 13: This Ain't A Scene

"You planning on sharing how the fuck this is even possible?" Tate finally said in a reluctant tone, still feeling like his head was nearly about to explode; his shoulders lifted to readjust himself against the wall as he quickly shot a look to the man that claimed to be his twin.

Tyler shrugged in a mindless motion as his hands clenched together before he opened his mouth again. This was a story his adoptive father had told him again and again; letting him know how not even his real mother had wanted him. And now having to say it out loud, to his twin no less, was something that took a lot in him to not show the pain in his eyes. "Few weeks after we were born," he started, "That woman traded my ass to some movie nutcase fuck, thinking he'd give her a starring role on his upcoming film. 'Course he was a liar. And she didn't seem to care, she told him to keep me anyway."

Tate's lips lifted in a bit of a smile regardless of his unintentional shock; maybe because he wasn't truly surprised that old mommy dearest would do such a thing. Yet, after a while he decided to wipe that faded smile away and look at Tyler with a concerned frown. "That should make you happy." He stated.

"Should it?" Tyler looked up with a confused expression.

"Yeah." Tate nodded. "I mean, you escaped the wicked witch's grasp." He noted and both twins smiled a smile that could have literally been a mirror from one another. Though it didn't last longer than a few seconds on Tate's lips when he started to wonder about Tyler; he wondered if what he was saying could actually be true, because even though it truly sounded like it, there was one detail that didn't exactly add up. "Alright." Tate voiced after what seemed like a long silence between them. "So, if you grew up away from here, how the fuck are you stuck in this house and why don't you look old?"

"Well..." Tyler's position, though mirroring Tate's nearly to perfection, shifted slightly as he realised he'd have to explain the dirty details to Tate. Uncomfortably, he began. "I wasn't one to grow up in the showbiz; and my folks were complete assholes, I grew fucking mental. But I took on researching Constance as a hobby. Instead, when I researched Langdon, I found you." Tyler admitted; his voice raised a notch, nearly warningly as his finger lifted to point mindlessly at Tate. In response, Tate's head lifted slightly to allow it to rest against the wall as well. "How you'd shot people in a school and died shot in this house." His finger shifted to point to the ground he was sitting on before letting it rest around his knees again. Tate's brow lifted. "Not shortly after, my parents fucking voiced they wished they'd never took me in, and being friendless and mental as I was I swallowed a bottle-full of pills." Tate automatically tried his hardest to not think of the only other person he could think of that had died the exact same way; he failed. "I woke up, though. I mean, I was dead, but I was still around. My folks actually fucking pretended they were heartbroken I'd died, the assholes." Tyler's mind suddenly shifted to those days back in the big white cinematic house; his eyes glistening with the ghosts of his past as the memories tumbled inside his mind.

Tate waited impatiently for him to continue speaking, his face lifting away from the wall as his eyes searched the scarily equal image of himself in front of him. "So how did you end up here, then?"

Tate's words pulled Tyler out of his memory train and made him look at Tate again; after sniffing once and sighing, Tyler finally decided to continue. "I stayed in that house for a while; you'd think I'd have gone out to have fun and shit, I could, but I stayed; researching more about you and Constance. One day I decided to come here and take my revenge on that fucking woman for giving me away just like that, so on Halloween, being corporeal and all I took a flight here and planned my revenge. It failed, obviously, I was a fucking amateur. But then, the next day, when I wanted to leave this goddamn house all that would happen was that I would reappear in here. I was trapped." Tate frowned as his eyes searched his twin's features for any hint of lies; there wasn't any. "So I stayed here, hidden, learning more about you and that woman next door so that one day I could actually take my revenge."

"So how come I didn't see you once until now?" Tate's arms lifted slightly only so he could cross them against his chest.

"What part of hidden don't you get?" Tyler smirked.

"Okay, yeah, but why come out now?" Tate questioned with his eyes nearly narrowed to slits, wondering what in the world could his twin be thinking of doing; the words _take on revenge_ hadn't gone past unnoticed for Tate. And the even bigger question for him was why had his twin found himself trapped in the house once he'd entered it?

"I think I've learnt enough about this house." Tyler admitted with a shrug of his shoulder.

"Really?" Tate scoffed. "Then you've learnt this house will make you lose your shit, right?"

"Kinda think either way couldn't make me more screwed than I am now." Tyler's eyes darted off into the space in front of him, making him begin to grasp onto feeling melancholy once more as his mind wondered onto his past. Yet, he quickly stopped himself by thinking more about Tate's own past than his. "Well..." He said as his hand rose to point at him once more. "You take the cake for being the most fucked up of us. I mean... shit." His hand dropped and a small chuckle left his lips; his brown curls moving along with his head as it shook.

"If your life was as fucked up as mine," Tate started, "I'm sure you'd have done some pretty shitty things too." He was aware of all the crazy shit he'd done, however he needed to know he couldn't be the only one; and as his mind traveled to Mel and the things she'd told him, he realised he actually wasn't the only one. He quickly chose to make himself stand as he cleared his throat and a small frown crossed his forehead; he didn't know how he felt that the one person he seemed to find himself alike with was actually a half demon English girl, he shook his head, his blonde curls gracing his forehead as he did so.

Tyler's brow rose as he let a small groan of annoyance pass his lips. And though it took him a few moments to decide to do so, he pushed himself up into a standing position as well to not have to look up all the time; his arms crossed in a jaded defence mechanism. "You mean like shooting a school up under the influence?" He asked as he shook his head once again. Tate looked at him with deadly eyes. "Last time I checked I wasn't that crazy, but when you're raised with showbiz parentals you're not exactly a model teen citizen either." His hands quickly reached for the one pack of cigarettes he'd stolen from the current owner's house and he took one out, offering the pack to Tate, who quickly took one of the lonely things and placed it behind his ear.

Tate found himself leaning against the wall once more as his hands mindlessly entered his pockets; all he could do was shrug at his words, thinking about everything he'd said before. "And what makes you think meeting Constance is going to make that different?"

Tyler's head shook as he reached for the stolen lighter for his cigarette as his brow lifted slightly when he realised Tate had placed his cigarette behind his ear. "Wouldn't you want to meet your birth mother, man?" He asked from between cigarette-holding teeth as he lit it; after taking a long inhale of the brand new smoke he took it between his index and middle finger, exhaling a long cloud of gray smoke. "It's just somethin' I have to do; whether it's a complete goddamn disaster or not."

Tate shrugged mindlessly as his eyes traveled all over his twin, watching intently as his movements were so scarily alike himself while he lit up a cigarette and even spoke; if it weren't for the accent and the brown hair he'd honestly have thought he was just seeing things; a mirror. "If you see her, don't send her my way." Tate quickly pushed himself away from the wall and removed his hands from his worn out pockets.

"When can I meet her?" Tyler asked; though Tate couldn't figure out if his twin's voice mirrored excitement or defeat.

His eyes lifted in a somewhat amused manner as his lips lifted before a wave of soft laughter left them; his head shook as he looked at his twin. "I don't know, but I know It'll be soon; I'm sure she'll be over to rob some of Mel's shit any day now." Tyler's brows rose again. "Ya know." Tate continued. "Gotta 'welcome' the new neighbour and all."

"So she's a klepto?" Tyler asked with his smile nearly mirroring Tate's as amusement grew inside him. "I just assumed she was a grade C whore." He snorted lazily.

His voice and body language were familiar to Tate; not just because it was identical to his own, but the sense of hate he felt for Constance as well seemed too much. Even though he tried to stop it, hostility left his lips when he spoke. "What's it to you, anyway?"

Tyler nearly laughed at his brother's reaction. "I guess you could say that the shit she pulled deserves something more than revenge." Yet, even as he looked at Tate, he knew and refused to let him in on the fact that he could try revenge on him too; he knew well, after studying him for nearly twelve years, that if Tate knew he'd find a way to get him off of the revenge wagon faster than he could say "boo." And what fun would that be?

Tate could see the change in stance in Tyler. But he couldn't exactly figure out what it was, and though he agreed wholeheartedly that revenge on Constance was something quite smart to do, something maybe he'd even help with, he also knew that the look that was crossing Tyler's features wasn't one that truly came with the idea of revenge. So he decided to ask. "Why the fuck do you look so cheerful, then? You should be planning what to do." He wondered. "Make sure you don't kill her here, though," Tate warned, "There'd be more than one ghost in this house angry with you for it if you did."

"Not planning on it." Tyler quickly admitted; he'd been in the Victorian house long enough to know that if he killed her in it Constance would be stuck around with them for the rest of eternity. And that wasn't something he wanted, even if he'd never met the woman face to face he'd heard enough and seen enough in the past years while studying everything in it. "But," He continued, "I was actually thinking I'd try to get to know that Violet girl, she seems quite cool."

Tate's senses instantly lighted on fire when Violet's name left his twin's lips, and he felt the red rising all up inside his body as fury radiated from him. And as Tyler smirked as he got the reaction he wanted, Tate quickly moved away from him angrily. "Stay away from her." He said, storming off and away from his twin with less amusement in his eyes than he'd had the moment he'd even learnt he had a twin. He'd gone to the basement to stop thinking about Violet, not to talk about her. He knew anyway, that if Tyler tried talking to her she'd probably send him away thinking it was him. That alone calmed him enough to leave the basement mindlessly in search of a quiet place to broad in.

Yet Tyler, even as he stood alone in that basement, realised that if he wanted to include Tate in his search for revenge, the best way to do it would be with the only one thing that could truly hurt his brother. The one thing that made him angry as a firecracker and the one thing that could split a hole in the middle of his completely dead body.

It was her; she was his perfect revenge: Violet Harmon.

**To Be Continued.**


End file.
